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ROBA  DI  ROMA 


BY 


WILLIAM  WETMORE   STORY 


IN  TWO  VOLUMES 
VOL.  I. 


BOSTON   AND   NEW   YORK 
HOU-GHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY 


1891 


Copyright,  1887, 
Bi  WILLIAM  W.  STORY. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass  ,  U.  5.  A. 
Blectrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  0.  Houghton  &  Company. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  EIGHTH  EDITION. 


SOME  of  the  hopes  expressed  in  the  Preface  to  the 
Sixth  Edition  of  this  work  have  not  been  realized,  and 
many  of  the  old  picturesque  customs  which  then  lent 
a  special  charm  to  Rome  have  disappeared.  The  facili- 
ties of  travel,  the  growth  of  the  city,  the  fact  that  it  has 
now  become  the  capital  of  a  great  nation,  and  not  simply 
the  central  city  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church,  have 
brought  about  many  and  vital  changes,  effaced  many 
of  its  former  characteristics,  and  made  of  it  a  modern 
city.  Great  improvements  have  been  introduced  in  all 
that  regards  its  material  advantages  as  a  residence.  Its 
streets  have  been  widened,  sidewalks  made  for  foot- 
passengers,  new  piazzas  opened,  its  drainage  greatly  im- 
proved, its  old  houses  and  apartments  renewed  and  fitted 
to  modern  requirements,  and  new  quarters,  which  when 
this  book  was  written  were  but  empty  spaces,  gardens, 
villas,  and  vineyards,  are  now  covered  with  continuous 
rows  of  buildings  and  streets,  —  a  new  and  modern  Rome 
has  grown  up  on  the  outskirts  of  the  old  city,  to  fit  it  for 
the  exigencies  of  to-day,  to  afford  habitations  to  the  large 
increase  of  the  population  which  is  now  pouring  into  it 
from  every  part  of  Italy.  It  cannot,  however,  be  said 
that  great  good  taste  or  regard  for  architectural  beauty 
characterizes  these  new  quarters.  They  have  been  built 

2042159 


iv         PREFACE  TO  THE  EIGHTH  EDITION. 

rather  for  speculation  than  for  beauty.  Still,  there  are 
not  wanting  there  creditable  and  even  handsome  struc- 
tures, and  the  Via  Nazionale  is  really  worthy  of  a  great 
capital. 

In  the  old  portions  of  the  city  the  changes  have  gen- 
erally been  improvements,  and  though  here  and  there 
there  is  something  to  regret  in  the  destruction  of  the  old, 
on  the  whole  these  alterations  have  been  for  the  benefit 
of  the  city  and  the  people.  In  fact,  in  most  cases  they 
have  been  absolutely  necessary.  What  is  a  sorrow  and 
a  sadness,  what  is  inexcusable,  is  the  destruction  of  the 
villas  and  gardens  within  the  city,  which  formerly  lent 
such  a  peculiar  charm  to  Rome.  The  beautiful  and 
romantic  grounds  of  the  Villa  Ludovisi  have  now  dis- 
appeared ;  its  ilexes  and  green  alleys  have  been  ruth- 
lessly hewn  down  to  give  place  to  new  streets  and  houses. 
The  nightingales  will  sing  there  no  more,  and  lovers  and 
friends  from  afar  will  no  longer  wander  there  and  yield 
their  spirits  to  the  charm  of  its  romance.  That  is  of  the 
past.  And,  too,  the  Villa  Massimo  has  gone,  and  the  Villa 
Negroni ;  and  even,  as  I  write,  the  delightful  and  pictur- 
esque Colonna  Gardens  are  about  to  disappear.  Even 
the  Villa  Borghese  is  threatened,  with  its  varied  and 
exquisite  slopes,  and  its  broad  stone  fences  and  sombre 
ilexes  and  shadowy  glens,  where  all  the  world  now  drives 
and  saunters  as  the  afternoon  draws  towards  sunset. 

In  regard  to  the  ancient  remains  of  Rome,  great  care 
has  been  taken  to  preserve  them,  and  over  them  an 
archaeological  commission  presides  to  see  that  none  are 
destroyed  which  are  deemed  to  be  of  importance.  Un- 
doubtedly the  exigencies  of  a  capital  of  Italy,  the  opening 
of  new  streets  and  the  widening  of  old,  have  here  and 
there  obliterated  ancient  landmarks  and  fragments  of  ruin 


PREFACE  TO  THE  EIGHTH  EDITION.          v 

which  were  interesting,  and  drawn  down  upon  the  muni- 
cipality severe  criticism  and  strong  reprehension  from 
strangers.  But  after  all,  precious  as  every  stone  of  Rome 
is  to  the  world,  and  filled  as  every  corner  of  it  is  with  his- 
torical associations  and  memories,  it  is  none  the  less  true 
that  some  changes  were  absolutely  required,  and  either 
the  necessary  reform  of  the  city  to  fit  it  to  be  the  capital 
of  a  great  nation  was  to  be  abandoned,  or  some  things  not 
without  interest  as  relics  of  the  past  had  to  be  sacrificed  ; 
and  though  in  some  cases  there  may  be  strong  differences 
of  opinion  as  to  the  propriety  of  certain  acts  of  the  muni- 
cipality, it  cannot,  I  think,  be  honestly  insisted  that  what 
has  been  done  has  either  been  wanton  or  without  at  least 
apparent  excuse.  The  modern  excavations  have  been 
made  with  much  consideration,  and  if  the  Forum  and  the 
Palace  of  the  Caesars  have  been  shorn  of  their  former  pic- 
turesqueness,  they  have  derived  therefrom  an  additional 
archaeological  interest. 

In  the  present  edition  I  have  not  attempted  to  alter 
what  was  originally  written,  so  as  to  make  it  in  all  partic- 
ulars represent  Rome  as  it  now  is.  Here  and  there  notes 
have  been  added  to  indicate  changes,  but  more  than  this 
it  was  impossible  to  do  without  rewriting  much  of  the  book. 
Parts  of  it  belong  to  the  past,  and,  standing  as  an  histor- 
ical record  of  what  no  longer  exists,  may  perhaps  have  an 
additional  interest  from  this  very  reason.  The  main  por- 
tion of  it,  however,  is  not  affected  by  the  many  modern 
changes  in  the  Eternal  City. 

The  character  of  Rome  has  very  much  changed  from 
what  it  was.  It  is  no  longer  the  peaceful  and  tranquil 
place  where  the  pilgrim  might  wander  and  muse  over  the 
past,  far  from  the  busy  traffic  of  the  world,  and  its  worry 
and  its  interests.  The  contemplative  and  almost  monas- 


vi         PREFACE  TO   THE  EIGHTH  EDITION. 

tic  charm  of  retirement,  which  once  made  it  a  city  apart 
from  all  others,  is  gone  or  going,  and  it  is  gradually 
drawing  into  line  with  all  other  cities.  Life  is  astir  in  its 
crowded  streets.  It  is  awaking  from  its  long  dream. 
But  one  cannot  but  sigh  in  remembering  how  pleasant 
and  soothing  that  dream  of  life  was,  and  despite  all  rea- 
soning there  lingers  a  fond  regret  for  the  olden  time, 
when  Rome  was  sleeping. 

ST.  MORITZ,  ENGADINE,  SUISSE. 
August  12,  1886. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  SIXTH  EDITION. 


THE  present  edition  has  been  carefully  revised,  and 
many  additions  have  been  made,  which,  it  is  hoped,  will 
not  be  found  to  be  without  value  and  interest. 

As  it  is  going  through  the  press,  Rome  has  become  an 
integral  portion  of  the  kingdom  of  Italy,  and  will,  in  all 
probability,  undergo  many  and  important  changes.  Among 
others,  the  censorship  of  the  press  will  be  abolished,  and 
free  admission  given  to  literature  of  all  kinds ;  so  that 
this  book  may  now  enter  without  that  challenge  which, 
on  account  of  some  opinions  herein  expressed,  it  has 
hitherto  met.  It  is  a  curious  illustration  of  the  previous 
condition  of  things  in  Rome,  that,  although  the  govern- 
ment formally  authorized  its  admission,  it  was,  during 
the  last  two  years,  persistently  stopped  at  the  custom- 
house, on  the  avowed  ground  that  the  miraculous  Bam- 
bino of  Ara  Coeli  was  mentioned  with  disrespect  in  its 
pages.  This  objection,  however,  no  longer  will  prevail, 
and  any  traveller  may  now  freely  carry  it  with  him, 
without  danger  of  its  being  confiscated  on  the  frontier. 

Further  alterations  it  is  not  my  purpose  to  make,  if 
subsequent  editions  should  be  required.  Some  of  the 
national  customs  described  in  it  are  already  beginning  to 
disappear,  and  still  more  changes  will  probably  occur 
under  the  new  order  of  things.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that, 


viii          PREFACE  TO  THE  SIXTH  EDITION. 

with  the  entrance  of  liberty,  the  old  picturesque  customs 
and  costumes  that  gave  so  peculiar  a  charm  to  Rome  will 
not  be  driven  out.  But  the  tendency  of  modern  civiliza- 
tion is  to  the  useful  rather  than  to  the  picturesque  ;  and 
it  is  to  be  feared  that  many  years  will  not  elapse  before 
much  that  is  described  in  these  pages  will  have  become 
purely  historical.  Let  us  pray,  however,  that  Italy  may 
not  seek  to  make  a  Brummagem  Paris  of  this  grand  old 
city,  and,  under  the  pretence  of  improvement,  obliterate 
the  old  landmarks  of  History,  Poetry,  and  Romance. 

A  word  or  two  may  be  ventured  here  on  a  minor  sub- 
ject, yet  not  without  its  value.  Italy  was  once  the  arbiter 
of  dress,  and  gave  the  law  to  the  world.  Milan  and 
Mantua  gave  us  our  milliners  and  mantua-makers  before 
the  word  and  the  law  of  "  mode  "  were  invented  by  the 
French.  Nothing  can  exceed  the  beauty  and  picturesque- 
ness  of  many  of  those  old  Italian  costumes,  which  only 
slowly  changed,  and  were  not  varied  every  month  to  suit 
the  tasteless  caprice  of  man  or  woman.  The  fidgety 
demon  of  change  worshipped  by  modern  society  is 
Fashion ;  and  its  chief  temple  is  Paris.  Is  it  impos- 
sible to  pay  reverence  again  to  the  ancient  and  severer 
divinity  of  Beauty  ? 

Italy  at  last  belongs  to  herself.  Let  us  see  if  she 
cannot  be  herself,  and  play  no  more  the  jackal  to 
France,  —  be  herself  in  those  grand  systems  of  juris- 
prudence which  once  she  gave  to  us  on  land  and  on 
sea,  —  herself  in  commerce,  industry,  and  arts,  with 
which  she  once  led  the  world,  —  herself  in  liberty  and 
popular  government,  in  which  she  once  was  foremost 
among  nations,  —  and  herself  in  the  minor  department 
of  dress,  so  that  her  artists  may  no  longer  be  ashamed 


PREFACE  TO   THE  SIXTH  EDITION.          ix 

to  paint  and  to  sculpture  the  great  men  of  to-day;  nor 
blush  as  they  see  the  portraits  of  her  modern  statesmen, 
poets,  and  heroes,  standing  in  their  ridiculous  costumes 
beside  the  dignified  figures  painted  by  her  great  artists  in 
the  early  days  of  her  freedom  and  power. 

LONDON,  November  25,  1870. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PAGE 

ENTRANCE      1 

CHAPTER  II. 
STREET  Music  IN  ROME 8 

CHAPTER  III. 
BEGGARS  IN  ROME .40 

CHAPTER  IV. 
CHRISTMAS  HOLIDAYS 70 

CHAPTER  V. 
LENT 93 

CHAPTER  VI. 
GAMES  IN  ROME    *. 119 

CHAPTER  VII. 
MAY  IN  ROME 164 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
CAFFBS  AND  THEATRES       207 

CHAPTER  IX. 
THE  COLOSSEUM 240 

CHAPTER  X. 
MIMES,  MASKS,  AND  PUPPETS 269 


ROBA  DI  ROMA. 


CHAPTER  I. 

ENTRANCE. 

IT  was  on  the  6th  of  December,  1856,  that  I  landed 
with  my  family  at  Civita  Vecchia,  on  my  return  for  the 
third  time  to  Rome.  Before  we  could  make  all  our  ar- 
rangements, it  was  too  late  to  think  of  journeying  that 
day  towards  the  dear  old  city ;  but  the  following  morning 
we  set  forth  in  a  rumbling,  yellow  post-coach,  with  three 
horses,  and  a  shabby,  gaudy  postilion,  the  wheels  clatter- 
ing, the  bells  on  the  horses'  necks  jingling,  the  cocks'- 
plumes  on  their  heads  nodding,  and  a  half-dozen  sturdy 
beggar-brats  running  at  our  side  and  singing  a  dismal 
chorus  of  "  Dated  qualche  cosa."  Two  or  three  half- 
baiocchi,  however,  bought  them  off,  and  we  had  the  road 
to  ourselves.  The  day  was  charming,  the  sky  cloudless, 
the  air  tender  and  with  that  delicious  odor  of  the  South 
which  so  soothingly  intoxicates  the  senses.  The  sea,  ac- 
companying us  for  half  our  way,  gleamed  and  shook  out 
its  breaking  surf  along  the  shore ;  and  the  rolling  slopes 
of  the  Campagna,  flattered  by  sunlight,  stretched  all 
around  us,  —  here  desert  and  sparkling  with  tall  skeleton 
grasses  and  the  dry  canes'  tufted  feathers,  and  there  cov- 
ered with  low,  shrubby  trees,  that,  crowding  darkly  to- 
gether, climbed  the  higher  hills.  On  tongues  of  land, 
jutting  out  into  the  sea,  stood  at  intervals  lonely  watch- 
towers,  gray  with  age,  and  at  their  feet  shallow  and  im- 
potent waves  gnashed  into  foam  around  the  black,  jagged 
teeth  of  half-sunken  rocks  along  the  shore.  Here  and 
there  the  broken  arches  of  a  Roman  bridge,  nearly  buried 
in  the  lush  growth  of  weeds,  shrubs,  and  flowers,  or  the 


2  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

ruins  of  some  old  villa,  the  home  of  the  owl,  snake,  and 
lizard,  showed  where  Ancient  Rome  journeyed  and  lived. 
At  intervals,  heavy  carts,  drawn  by  the  massive  gray  oxen 
of  the  Campagna,  creaked  slowly  by,  the  contadino  sitting 
athwart  the  tongue  ;  or  some  light  -wine-carretta  came 
ringing  along,  the  driver  fast  asleep  under  its  tall,  trian- 
gular cover,  with  his  fierce  little  dog  beside  him,  and  his 
horse  adorned  with  bright  rosettes  and  feathers.  Some- 
times long  lines  of  mules  or  horses,  tied  one  to  another's 
tail,  plodded  on  in  dusty  procession,  laden  with  sacks ;  — 
sometimes  droves  of  oxen,  or  poledri,  conducted  by  a 
sturdy  driver  in  heavy  leathern  leggings,  and  armed  with 
a  long,  pointed  pole,  stopped  our  way  for  a  moment.  In 
the  fields,  the  pecoraro,  in  shaggy  sheep-skin  breeches,  the 
very  type  of  the  mythic  Pan,  leaned  against  his  staff,  half 
asleep,  and  tended  his  woolly  flock, — or  the  contadino 
drove  through  dark  furrows  the  old  plough  of  Virgil's 
time,  that  figures  in  the  vignettes  to  the  "  Georgics," 
dragged  tediously  along  by  four  white  oxen,  yoked  abreast. 
There,  too,  were  herds  of  long-haired  goats,  rearing  among 
the  bushes  and  showing  their  beards  over  them,  or  follow- 
ing the  shepherd  to  their  fold,  as  the  shadows  began  to 
lengthen,  —  or  rude  and  screaming  wains,  tugged  by  un- 
couth buffaloes,  with  low  heads  and  knotted  knees,  bred 
among  the  malaria-stricken  marshes. 

Half-way  to  Rome  we  changed  horses  at  Palo,  —  a  little 
grim  settlement,  composed  of  a  post-house,  inn,  stables,  a 
line  of  straggling  fishermen's  huts,  and  a  desolate  old  for- 
tress, flanked  by  four  towers.  This  fortress,  which  once 
belonged  to  the  Odescalchi  family,  but  is  now  the  prop- 
erty of  the  Roman  government,  looks  like  the  very  spot 
for  a  tragedy,  as  it  stands  there  rotting  in  the  pestilential 
air,  and  garrisoned  by  a  few  stray  old  soldiers,  whose 
dreary,  broken-down  appearance  is  quite  in  keeping  with 
the  place.  Palo  itself  is  the  site  of  the  city  of  Alsium, 
founded  by  the  Pelasgi,  in  the  dim  gloom  of  antiquity, 
long  before  the  Etruscans  landed  on  this  shore.  It  was 
subsequently  occupied  by  the  Etruscans,  and  afterwards 
became  a  favorite  resort  of  the  Roman  nobility,  who  built 
there  the  splendid  villas  of  Antoninus,  Porcina,  Pompeius, 


ENTRANCE  TO  ROME.  3 

and  others.  Of  the  Pelasgic  and  Etruscan  town  not  a 
vestige  remains ;  but  the  ruined  foundations  of  Roman 
villas  are  still  to  be  seen  along  the  shore.  No  longer  are 
to  be  found  there  the  feasts  described  by  Fronto,1  of 
"  fatted  oysters,  savory  apples,  pastry,  confectionery,  and 
generous  wines  in  faultless  transparent  goblets,"  —  nor 
would  it  now  be  called  "  a  voluptuous  seaside  retreat ; " 
but  good  lobsters  are  still  abundant  there,  and  one  can  get 
a  greasy  beefsteak,  black  bread,  an  ill-cooked  chicken,  and 
sour  wine,  at  only  about  twice  their  market  value.  The 
situation  is  lovely,  with  the  sea  washing  in  along  the 
rounded  rim  of  the  coast,  close  up  to  the  door  of  the  inn  ; 
and  on  a  sunny  day,  when  the  white  wings  of  feluccas  may 
be  seen  gleaming  far  off  on  the  blue  Mediterranean,  and 
the  fishermen  are  drawing  their  nets  close  into  shore,  it 
seems  as  if  it  might  really  be  made  "  a  voluptuous  seaside 
retreat,"  but  for  the  desolating  malaria  which  renders  it 
dangerous  to  rest  there  for  a  single  night. 

Here,  of  course,  we  stopped  as  short  a  time  as  possible ; 
and  then,  bidding  adieu  to  the  sea,  struck  inland  over  the 
Campagna  to  Rome.  The  country  now  grows  wild,  deso- 
late, and  lonely ;  but  it  has  a  special  charm  of  its  own, 
which  they  who  are  only  hurrying  on  to  Rome,  and  to 
whom  it  is  an  obstruction  and  a  tediousness,  cannot,  of 
course,  perceive.  It  is  dreary,  weird,  ghostly,  —  the  home 
of  the  winds  ;  but  its  silence,  sadness,  and  solitude  are  both 
soothing  and  impressive.  After  miles  and  miles  up  and 
down,  at  last,  from  the  crest  of  a  hill  up  which  we  slowly 
toiled  with  our  lumbering  carriage  and  reeking  horses,  we 
saw  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's  hanging  above  the  city,  which 
as  yet  was  buried  out  of  sight,  like  a  tethered  balloon.  It 
was  but  a  glimpse,  and  was  soon  lost.  The  postilion  cov- 
ered the  worn-out  lace  of  his  shabby  livery  with  a  heavy 
cloak,  which  he  flung  over  his  shoulder  to  keep  out  the 
dampening  air,  gave  a  series  of  wild  flourishes  with  his 
whip,  broke  into  guttural  explosions  of  voice  to  urge  along 
his  horses,  and  on  we  went  full-gallop.  The  road  grew 
more  and  more  populated  as  we  approached  the  city. 

1  De  Feriis  Alsensibus,  Epist.  III.  See  Dennis's  Etruscan  Anti- 
quities, Vol.  I. 


1  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

Carriages  were  out  for  a  drive,  or  to  meet  friends  on  their 
way  from  Civita  Vecchia ;  and  on  foot  was  many  a  little 
company  of  Romans,  laughing  and  talking.  At  the  osterlas 
were  groups  seated  under  vine-covered  arbors,  or  before 
the  door,  drinking  leisurely  their  wine  and  watching  the 
passers-by.  At  last,  toward  sundown,  we  stopped  at  the 
Porta  Cavalleggieri,  where,  thanks  to  our  lascia  passare, 
we  were  detained  but  a  minute,  —  and  then  we  were  in 
Rome.  Over  us  rose  the  huge  swelling  dome  of  St. 
Peter's,  golden  with  the  last  rays  of  sunset.  The  pillars 
of  the  gigantic  colonnade  of  Bernini,  as  we  jolted  along, 
"  seemed  to  be  marching  by  "  in  broad  platoons.  The 
fountains  piled  their  flexile  columns  of  spray  and  waved 
them  to  and  fro.  The  great  bell  clanged  from  the  belfry. 
Groups  wandered  forth  in  the  great  Piazza.  The  old 
Egyptian  obelisk  in  the  centre  pointed  its  lean  finger  to 
the  sky.  We  were  in  Rome !  This  one  moment  of  sur- 
prised sensation  is  worth  the  journey  from  Civita  Vecchia. 
Entered  by  no  other  gate,  is  Rome  so  suddenly  and  com- 
pletely possessed.  Nowhere  is  the  contrast  so  instantaneous 
and  vivid  as  here,  between  the  silent,  desolate  Campagna 
and  the  splendor  of  St.  Peter's,  —  between  the  burrows 
of  primitive  Christianity  and  the  gorgeousness  of  ecclesias- 
tical Rome. 

After  leaving  the  Piazza,  we  get  a  glimpse  of  Hadrian's 
Mole,  and  of  the  rusty  Tiber,  as  it  hurries,  "  retortis  littore 
Etrusco  violenter  undis,"  as  of  old,  under  the  statued 
bridge  of  St.  Angelo,  —  and  then  we  plunge  into  long, 
damp,  narrow,  dirty  streets.  Yet  —  shall  I  confess  it  ?  — 
they  had  a  charm  for  me.  Twilight  was  deepening  into 
dark  as  we  passed  through  them.  Confused  cries  and  loud 
Italian  voices  sounded  about  me.  Children  were  scream- 
ing, —  men  howling  their  wares  for  sale.  Bells  were  ring- 
ing everywhere.  Priests,  soldiers,  peasants,  and  beggars 
thronged  along.  The  Trasteverini  were  going  home,  with 
their  jackets  hanging  over  one  shoulder.  Women,  in  their 
rough  woollen  gowns,  stood  in  the  doorways  bare-headed, 
or  looked  out  from  windows  and  balconies,  their  black  hair 
shining  under  the  lanterns.  Lights  were  twinkling  in  the 
little  cavernous  shops,  and  under  the  Madonna  shrines  fax 


DIFFERENT  NOTIONS  OF  DIRT.  5 

within  them.  A  funeral  procession,  with  its  black  ban- 
ners, gilt  with  a  death's-head  and  crossbones,  was  passing 
by,  its  wavering  candles  borne  by  the  confraternita,  who 
marched  carelessly  along,  shrouded  from  head  to  foot  in 
white,  with  only  two  holes  for  the  eyes  to  glare  through. 

It  was  dirty,  but  it  was  Rome  ;  and  to  any  one  who  has 
long  lived  in  Rome  even  its  very  dirt  has  a  charm  which 
the  neatness  of  no  other  place  ever  had.  All  depends,  of 
course,  on  what  we  call  dirt.  No  one  would  defend  the 
condition  of  some  of  the  streets  or  some  of  the  habits  of 
the  people.  But  the  soil  and  stain  which  many  call  dirt  I 
call  color,  and  the  cleanliness  of  Amsterdam  would  ruin 
Rome  for  the  artist.  Thrift  and  exceeding  cleanliness  are 
sadly  at  war  with  the  picturesque.  To  whatever  the  hand 
of  man  builds,  the  hand  of  Time  adds  a  grace,  and  nothing 
is  so  prosaic  as  the  rawly  new.  Fancy  for  a  moment  the 
difference  for  the  worse,  if  all  the  grim,  browned,  rotted 
walls  of  Rome,  with  their  peeling  mortar,  their  thousand 
daubs  of  varying  grays  and  yellows,  their  jutting  brickwork 
and  patched  stonework,  from  whose  intervals  the  cement 
has  crumbled  off,  their  waving  weeds  and  grasses  and 
flowers,  now  sparsely  fringing  their  top,  now  thickly  pro- 
truding from  their  sides,  or  clinging  and  making  a  home 
in  the  clefts  and  crevices  of  decay,  were  to  be  smoothed 
to  a  complete  level,  and  whitewashed  over  into  an  uniform 
and  monotonous  tint.  What  a  gain  in  cleanliness  !  what 
a  loss  in  beauty !  An  old  wall  like  this  I  remember  on 
the  road  from  Grotta  Ferrata  to  Frascati,  which  was  ta 
my  eyes  a  constant  delight.  One  day  the  owner  took  it 
into  his  head  to  whitewash  it  all  over,  —  to  clean  it,  as  some 
would  say.  I  look  upon  that  man  as  little  better  than  a 
Vandal  in  taste,  —  one  from  whom  "  knowledge  at  one 
entrance  "  was  "  quite  shut  out." 

Take  another  "  modern  instance."  Substitute  for  the 
tiled  roofs  of  Rome,  now  so  gray,  tumbled,  and  picturesque 
with  their  myriad  lichens,  the  cold,  clean  slate  of  New 
York,  or  the  glittering  zinc  of  Paris,  —  should  we  gain  or 
lose  ?  1  he  Rue  de  Rivoli  is  long,  white,  and  uniform,  — 
all  new  and  all  clean  ;  but  there  is  no  more  harmony  and 
melody  in  it  than  in  the  "  damnable  iteration  "  of  a  single 


6  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

note ;  and  even  Time  will  be  puzzled  to  make  it  as  pic- 
turesque, or  half  as  interesting,  as  those  old  houses  de- 
stroyed in  the  back  streets  for  its  building,  and  which  had 
sprouted  up  here  and  there,  according  to  the  various 
whims  of  the  various  builders.  Those  were  taken  down 
because  they  were  dirty,  narrow,  unsightly.  These  are 
thought  elegant  and  clean.  Clean  they  certainly  are  ;  and 
they  have  one  other  peculiarity,  —  that  of  being  as  mo- 
notonously regular  as  the  military  despotism  they  repre- 
sent. But  I  prefer  individuality,  freedom,  and  variety,  for 
my  own  part.  The  narrow,  uneven,  huddled  Corso,  with 
here  a  noble  palace,  and  there  a  quaint  passage,  archway, 
or  shop,  —  the  buildings  now  high,  now  low,  but  all  bar- 
nacled over  with  balconies,  —  is  far  more  interesting  than 
the  unmeaning  uniformity  of  the  Rue  de  Rivoli.  So,  too, 
there  are  those  among  us  who  have  the  bad  taste  to  think 
it  a  desecration  in  Louis  Napoleon  to  have  scraped  the 
stained  and  venerable  Notre  Dame  into  cleanliness.  The 
Romantic  will  not  consort  with  the  Monotonous,  —  Nature 
is  not  neat,  —  Poetry  is  not  formal,  —  and  Rome  is  not 
clean. 

Th€se  thoughts,  or  ghosts  of  thoughts,  flitted  through 
my  mind,  as  the  carriage  was  passing  along  the  narrow, 
dirty  streets,  and  brought  with  them  after-trains  of  reflec- 
tion. There  may  be,  I  thought,  among  the  thousands  of 
travellers  that  annually  winter  at  Rcme,  some  to  whom  the 
common  out-door  pictures  of  modern  Roman  life  would 
have  a  charm  as  special  as  the  galleries  and  antiquities, 
and  to  whom  a  sketch  of  many  things,  which  wise  and 
serious  travellers  have  passed  by  as  unworthy  their  notice, 
might  be  interesting.  Every  ruin  has  had  its  score  of 
immortelles  hung  upon  it.  The  soil  has  been  almost  over- 
worked by  antiquarians  and  scholars,  to  whom  the  modern 
flower  was  nothing,  but  the  antique  brick  a  prize.  Poets 
and  sentimentalists  have  described  to  death  what  the  anti- 
quaries have  left ;  —  some  have  done  their  work  so  well 
that  nothing  remains  to  be  done  after  them.  Everybody 
has  an  herbarium  of  dried  flowers  from  all  the  celebrated 
sites,  and  a  table  made  from  bits  of  marble  collected  in  the 
ruined  villas.  Every  Englishman  carries  a  Murray  for 


BLUNDERS  OF  STRANGERS.  7 

information  and  a  Byron  for  sentiment,  and  finds  out  by 
them  what  he  is  to  know  and  feel  at  every  step.  Pictures 
and  statues  have  been  staled  by  copy  and  description,  until 
everything  is  stereotyped,  from  the  Dying  Gladiator,  with 
his  "young  barbarians  all  at  play,"  and  all  that,  down  to 
the  Beatrice  Cenci,  the  Madame  Tonson  of  the  shops,  that 
haunts  one  everywhere  with  her  white  turban  and  red 
eyes.  All  the  public  and  private  life  and  history  of  the 
ancient  Romans,  from  Romulus  to  Constantine  and  Julian 
the  Apostle  (as  he  is  sometimes  called),  is  perfectly  well 
known.  But  the  common  life  of  the  modern  Romans,  the 
games,  customs,  and  habits  of  the  people,  the  every-day  of 
To-day,  has  been  only  touched  upon  here  and  there,  — 
sometimes  with  spirit  and  accuracy,  as  by  Charles  M' Far- 
lane,  sometimes  with  grace,  as  by  Hans  Christian  Andersen, 
and  sometimes  with  ludicrous  ignorance,  as  by  Jones, 
Brown,  and  Robinson,  who  see  through  the  eyes  of  their 
courier,  and  the  spectacles  of  their  prejudices.  A  life  of 
several  years  in  Rome  has  given  me  opportunities  to  ob- 
serve some  things  which  do  not  strike  the  hurried  travel- 
ler, and  to  correct  many  of  my  own  false  notions  in  regard 
to  the  people  and  place.  To  a  stranger,  a  first  impression 
is  apt  to  be  a  false  impression  ;  and  it  constantly  happens 
to  me  to  hear  strangers  work  out  the  falsest  conclusions 
from  the  slightest  premises,  and  settle  the  character  and 
deserts  of  the  Italians,  —  all  of  whom  they  mass  together 
in  a  lump,  —  after  they  have  been  just  long  enough  on 
the  soil  to  travel  from  Civita  Vecchia  to  Rome  under  the 
charge  of  a  courier,  —  when  they  know  just  enough  of  the 
language  to  ask  for  a  coachman  when  they  want  a  spoon, 
—  or  to  order  a  "  mezzo  detto  "  at  the  restaurant,  —  and 
when  they  have  made  the  respectable  acquaintance,  be- 
sides their  courier,  of  a  few  porters,  a  few  beggars,  a  few 
shopkeepers,  and  the  padrone  of  the  apartment  they  hire. 

No  one  lives  long  in  Rome  without  loving  it ;  and  I  must, 
in  the  beginning,  confess  myself  to  be  in  the  same  category. 
Those  who  shall  read  these  slender  papers,  without  agree- 
ing to  the  kindly  opinions  often  expressed,  must  account 
for  it  by  remembering  that  "  Love  lends  a  precious  seeing 
to  the  eye."  My  aim  is  far  from  ambitious.  I  shall  not 


8  ROBA  Dl  ROMA. 

be  erudite,  but  I  hope  I  shall  not  be  dull.  These  little 
sketches  may  remind  some  of  happy  days  spent  under  the 
Roman  sky,  and,  by  directing  the  attention  of  others  to 
what  they  have  overlooked,  may  open  a  door  to  a  new 
pleasure.  Chi  sa  ?  The  plainest  Ranz  des  Vaches  may 
sometimes  please  when  the  Eroica  symphony  of  Beethoven 
would  be  a  bore. 


CHAPTER  IL 

STREET    MUSIC    IN    ROME. 

WHOEVER  has  passed  the  month  of  December  in  Rome 
will  remember  to  have  been  awakened  from  his  morning 
dreams  by  the  gay  notes  of  the  pifferari  playing  in  the 
streets  below,  before  the  shrines  of  the  Madonna  and 
Bambino,  —  and  the  strains  of  one  set  of  performers  will 
scarcely  have  ceased,  before  the  distant  notes  of  another 
set  of  pilgrims  will  be  heard  to  continue  the  well-known 
novena.  The  pifferari  are  generally  contadini  of  the 
Abruzzi  mountains,  who,  at  the  season  of  Advent,  leave 
their  home  to  make  a  pilgrimage  to  Rome,  —  stopping 
before  all  the  wayside  shrines,  as  they  journey  along,  to 
play  their  glad  music  of  welcome  to  the  Virgin  and  the 
coming  Messiah.  Their  song  is  called  a  novena,  from  its 
being  sung  for  nine  consecutive  days,  —  first  for  nine  days 
previous  to  the  Festa  of  the  Madonna,  which  occurs  on 
the  8th  of  December,  and  afterwards  for  the  nine  days 
preceding  Christmas.  Tbe  same  words  and  music  serve, 
however,  for  both  celebrations.  The  pifferari  always  go 
in  couples,  one  playing  on  the  zampogna,  or  bagpipe,  the 
bass  and  treble  accompaniment,  and  the  other  on  the 
piffero,  or  pastoral  pipe,  which  carries  the  air ;  and  for 
the  month  before  Christmas  the  sound  of  their  instruments 
resounds  through  the  streets  of  Rome  wherever  there  is  a 
shrine,  —  whether  at  the  corners  of  the  streets,  in  the  depths 
of  the  shops,  down  little  lanes,  in  the  centre  of  the  Corso, 
in  the  interior  courts  of  the  palaces,  or  on  the  stairways  of 
private  houses. 


STREET  MUSIC  — PIFFERARI.  9 

Their  costume  is  extremely  picturesque.  On  their  heads 
they  wear  conical  felt  hats  adorned  with  a  frayed  pea- 
cock's feather,  or  a  faded  band  of  red  cords  and  tassels, 

—  their  bodies  are  clad  in  red  waistcoats,  blue  jackets,  and 
small-clothes  of  skin  or  yellowish  homespun  cloth,  —  skin 
sandals  are  bound  to  their  feet  with  cords  that  interlace 
each  other  up  the  leg  as  far  as  the  knee,  —  and  over  all  is 
worn  a  long  brown  or  blue  cloak  with  a  short  cape,  buckled 
closely  round  the  neck.     Sometimes,  but  rarely,  this  cloak 
is  of  a  deep  red  with  a  scalloped  cape.     As  they  stand  be- 
fore the  pictures  of  the  Madonna,  their  hats  placed  on  the 
ground  before  them,  and  their  thick,  black,  dishevelled  hair 
covering  their  sunburnt  brows,  blowing  away  on  their  in- 
struments or  pausing  to  sing  their   novena.  they  form  a 
picture  which  every  artist  desires  to  paint.     Their  dress  is 
common  to  nearly  all  the  peasantry  of  the  Abruzzi,  and, 
worn  and  tattered  as  it  often  is,  it  has  a  richness  and  har- 
mony of  tint  which  no  new  clothes  could  ever  have,  and  for 
which  the  costumes  of  the  shops  and  regular  models  offer 
a  poor  substitute.    It  is  the  old  story  again.    The  new  and 
clean  is  not  so  paintable,  not  so  picturesque,  as  the  tar- 
nished and  soiled.    The  worn  blue  of  the  cloak  is  softened 
by  the  dull  gray  of   the  threads  beneath,  —  patches   of 
various  colors  are  often  let  into  the  jacket  or  breeches,  — 
the  hat  is  lustreless  from  age,  and  rusty  as  an  old  wall, 

—  and   the   first  vivid  red   of  the  waistcoat  is  toned  by 
constant  use  to  a  purely  pictorial  hue.     Besides,  the  true 
pifferaro  wears  his  costume  as  if  it  belonged  to  him  and 
had  always  been  worn  by  him,  —  so  that  it  has  none  of 
that  got-up  look  which  Spoils  everything.     From  the  san- 
dals and  corded  leggings,  which  in  the  Neapolitan  dialect 
are  termed  cioce,  the  pifferari  are  often  called  ciociari. 

Their  Christmas  pilgrimages  are  by  no  means  prompted 
by  purely  religious  motives,  though,  undoubtedly,  such 
considerations  have  some  weight  with  them,  the  common 
peasantry  being  religiously  inclined,  and  often  making  pil- 
grimages simply  from  a  sense  of  duty  and  propriety.  Bat 
in  these  wanderings  to  Rome,  their  principal  object  is  to 
earn  a  little  money  to  support  them  during  the  winter 
months,  when  their  "  occupation  is  gone."  As  they  are 


10  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

hired  in  Rome  by  the  owners  of  the  various  houses  adorned 
with  a  Madonna  shrine  (of  which  there  are  over  fifteen 
hundred  in  the  city),  to  play  before  them  at  the  rate  of  a 
paul  or  so  for  each  full  novena,  and  as  they  can  easily  play 
before  thirty  or  forty  a  day,  they  often  return,  if  their 
luck  be  good,  with  a  tolerable  little  sum  in  their  pockets. 
Besides  this,  they  often  stand  as  models,  if  they  are  good- 
looking  fellows,  and  thus  add  to  their  store ;  and  then 
again,  the  forestieri  (for,  as  the  ancient  Romans  called 
strangers  barbari,  so  their  descendants  call  them  foresters, 
woodmen,  wildmen)  occasionally  drop  baiocchi  and  pauls 
into  their  hats  still  further  to  increase  it. 

Sometimes  it  is  a  father  and  son  who  play  together,  but 
oftener  two  old  friends  who  make  the  pilgrimage  in  pairs. 
This  morning,  as  I  was  going  out  for  a  walk  round  the 
walls,  two  admirable  specimens  of  the  pifferari  were  per- 
forming the  novena  before  a  shrine  at  the  corner  of  the 
street.  The  player  of  the  bagpipe  was  an  old  man,  with  a 
sad  but  very  amiable  face,  who  droned  out  the  bass  and 
treble  in  a  most  earnest  and  deprecatory  manner.  He 
looked  as  if  he  had  stood  still,  tending  his  sheep,  nearly  all 
his  life,  until  the  peace  and  quiet  of  Nature  had  sunk  into 
his  being,  or,  if  you  will,  until  he  had  become  assimilated 
to  the  animals  he  tended.  The  other,  who  played  the 
pipe,  was  a  man  of  middle  age,  stout,  vigorous,  with  a 
forest  of  tangled  black  hair,  and  dark  quick  eyes  that  were 
fixed  steadily  on  the  Virgin,  while  he  blew  and  vexed  the 
little  brown  pipe  with  rapid  runs  and  nervous  Jiorittire, 
until  great  drops  of  sweat  dripped  from  its  round  open 
mouth.  Sometimes,  when  he  could  not  play  fast  enough 
to  satisfy  his  eagerness,  he  ran  his  finger  up  and  down  the 
vents.  Then,  suddenly  lowering  his  instrument,  he  would 
scream,  in  a  strong  peasant  voice,  verse  after  verse  of  the 
novena,  to  the  accompaniment  of  the  bagpipe.  One  was 
like  a  slow  old  Italian  vettura  all  lumbered  with  luggage 
and  held  back  by  its  drag ;  the  other  panting  and  nervous 
at  his  work  as  an  American  locomotive,  and  as  constantly 
running  off  the  rails.  Both,  however,  were  very  earnest 
at  their  occupation.  As  they  stood  there  playing,  a  little 
group  gathered  round.  A  scamp  of  a  boy  left  his  sport  to 


STREET  MUSIC—  PIFFERARI.  11 

come  and  beat  time  with  a  stick  on  the  stone  step  before 
them  ;  several  children  clustered  near  ;  and  two  or  three 
women,  with  black-eyed  infants  in  their  arms,  also  paused 
to  listen  and  sympathize.  At  last  the  playing  ceased.  The 
pifferari  took  up  their  hats  and  looked  round  smilingly 
at  us. 

"  Where  do  you  come  from  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Eh  !  "  said  the  pifferaro,  showing  all  his  teeth,  and 
shrugging  his  shoulders  good-naturedly,  while  the  other 
echoed  the  pantomime.  "  Dal  Regno"  for  so  the  Abruzzi 
peasants  call  the  kingdom  of  Naples. 

"  And  do  you  come  every  year  ?  " 

"  SI,  S ignore.  He  (indicating  his  friend)  and  I  (point- 
ing to  himself)  have  been  companions  for  thirty-three 
years,  and  every  year  we  have  come  to  Rome  to  play  the 
novena." 

To  this  the  old  zampognaro  bent  his  head  on  one  side, 
and  said,  assentingly,  "  Eh  !  per  trenta  treanni  "  — 

And  "  Ecco"  continued  the  pifferaro,  bursting  in  be- 
fore the  zampognaro  could  go  on,  and  pointing  to  two 
stalwart  youths  of  about  twenty-two  or  twenty-three  years 
of  age,  who  at  this  moment  came  up  the  street  with  their 
instruments,  —  "  These  are  our  two  sons.  He  is  mine," 
—  indicating  one  with  his  reversed  thumb ;  "  and  that 
other  is  his,"  —  jerking  his  head  towards  his  companion. 
"  And  they,  too,  are  going  to  play  in  company,  as  we 
do." 

"  For  thirty-three  years  more,  let  us  hope,"  said  I. 

"Eh  !  speriamo  "  (Let  us  hope  so),  was  the  answer  of 
the  pijfferaro,  as  he  showed  all  his  teeth  in  the  broadest  of 
smiles.  Then,  with  a  motion  of  his  hand,  he  set  both  the 
young  men  going,  he  himself  joining  in,  straining  out  both 
his  cheeks,  blowing  all  the  breath  of  his  body  into  the  little 
pipe,  and  running  up  and  down  the  vents  with  a  sliding 
finger,  until  finally  he  brought  up  against  a  high,  shrill 
note,  to  which  he  gave  the  full  force  of  his  lungs,  and,  after 
holding  it  in  loud  blast  for  a  moment,  startled  us  by  break- 
ing off,  without  gradation,  into  a  silence  as  sudden  as  if 
the  music  had  snapped  short  off,  like  a  pipe-stem. 

On  further  conversation  with  my  ciociari,  I  found  that 


12  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

they  came  yearly  from  Sora,  a  town  in  the  Abruzzi,  about 
fifty  miles  from  Rome,  making  the  journey  on  foot,  and 
picking  up  by  the  way  whatever  trifle  of  coppers  they  could. 
In  this  manner  they  travelled  the  whole  distance  in  five 
days,  living  upon  onions,  lettuce,  oil,  and  black  bread. 
They  were  now  singing  the  second  novena  for  Christmas  ; 
and,  if  one  could  judge  from  their  manner  and  conversa- 
tion, were  quite  content  with  what  they  had  earned.  I 
invited  them  up  into  my  room,  and  there  in  the  pleasantest 
way  they  stunned  us  with  the  noise  of  both  their  instru- 
ments, to  the  great  delight  of  the  children  and  the  astonish- 
ment of  the  servants,  for  whom  these  common  things  had 
worn  out  their  charm  by  constant  repetition.  At  my  re- 
quest they  repeated  the  words  of  the  novena  they  had  been 
singing,  and  I  took  them  down  from  their  lips.  After 
eliminating  the  wonderful  m-ms  of  the  Neapolitan  dialect, 
in  which  all  the  words  lay  imbedded  like  shells  in  the 
sand,  and  supplying  some  of  the  curious  elisions  with 
which  those  Abruzzi  Procrusteans  recklessly  cut  away  the 
polysyllables,  so  as  to  bring  them  within  the  rhythmic 
compass,  they  ran  thus  :  — 

"  Tu  Verginella  figlia  di  Sant'  Anna, 
Che  in  venire  tuo  portasti  il  buon  Gesu ; 
E  lo  partoristi  sotto  la  capanna, 
E  dov'  mangiav'  no  lo  bue  e  1'  asinello. 

"  Quel  Angelo  gridava :   '  Venite,  Santi ! 
'Ch'  e  andato  Gesu  dentro  la  capanna ; 
Ma  guardate  Vergine  beata, 
Che  in  ciel  in  terra  sia  nostr'  avvocata ! ' 

"  San  Giuseppe  andava  in  compagnia, 
Si  trov6  al  partorir  di  Maria. 
La  notte  di  Natale  e  notte  santa  — 
II  Padre  e  1'  Figliuolo  e  lo  Spirito  Santo. 
'Sta  la  ragione  che  abbianio  cantato ; 
Sia  a  Gesu  bambino  rappresentato. "  l 

1  "  Thou  little  Virgin  daughter  of  Saint  Anna, 
That  bore  within  thy  womb  the  good  Jesus ; 
And  gave  birth  to  him  in  the  hovel, 
Where  the  ox  and  the  ass  were  eating  together. 

"  That  angel  cried  out :  '  Come,  O  ye  Saints  I 
For  Jesus  has  gone  there  into  the  hovel ; 


STREET  MUSIC  — PIFFERARI.  13 

The  sudden  introduction  of  "  Quel  Angela  "  in  this 
song  reminds  us  of  a  similar  felicity  in  the  romantic  ballad 
of  "  Lord  Bateman,"  where  we  are  surprised  to  learn  that 
"  this  Turk,"  to  whom  no  allusion  had  been  previously 
made,  "  has  one  lovely  daughter." 

The  air  to  which  this  is  sung  is  simple  and  sweet,  though 
monotonous,  and  if  for  no  other  reason  is  interesting  as 
being  one  of  the  oldest  fragments  of  popular  song  existing 
in  Italy.  Between  the  verses  a  curious  little  ritornello 
is  played,  and  at  the  close  of  the  last  verse  there  is  a 
strange  and  solemn  adagio.  It  will  be  found  in  the  Ap- 
pendix. 

The  wanderings  of  the  pifferari  are  by  no  means  con- 
fined to  the  Roman  States.  Sometimes  they  stray  u  as  far 
away  as  Paris  is,"  and,  wandering  about  in  that  gay  cap- 
ital, like  children  at  a  fair,  play  in  the  streets  for  chanre 
sous,  or  stand  as  models  to  artists,  who,  having  once  been 
in  Rome,  hear  with  a  longing  Rome-sickness  the  old  char- 
acteristic sounds  of  the  piffero  and  zampogna.  Two  of 
them  I  remember  to  have  heard  thus,  as  I  was  at  work  in 
my  studio  in  Paris ;  and  so  vividly  did  they  recall  the  old 
Roman  time,  that  I  called  them  in  for  a  chat.  Wonderful 
was  their  speech.  In  the  few  months  of  their  wandering, 
they  had  put  into  their  Neapolitan  dough  various  plums  of 
French  words,  which,  pronounced  in  their  odd  way,  "  suf- 
fered a  change  into  something  rich  and  strange."  One  of 
them  told  me  that  his  wife  had  just  written  to  him  by  the 
hand  of  a  public  letter-writer,  lamenting  his  absence,  and 

But  look  down  upon  us,  O  blessed  Virgin, 
And  in  heaven  and  on  earth  be  our  advocate  1 ' 

Saint  Joseph  went  in  company  with  them, 
And  was  present  at  the  child-birth  of  Mary. 
The  night  of  Christmas  is  a  holy  night  — 
The  Father,  and  the  Son,  and  the  Holy  Ghost. 
This  is  the  reason  why  we  have  sung  ; 
Let  it  be  represented  to  the  baby  Jesus." 

There  cannot  be  said  to  be  any  strict  continuity  of  thought  or  nar- 
rative in  these  disjointed  words.  They  disdain  the  common  rules  of 
rhythm,  metre,  rhyme,  but  they  serve  their  purpose,  queer  as  they 
are,  and  probably  represent  as  well  as  may  be  the  confused  notions 
of  the  peasants  upon  the  great  subject  which  they  treat. 


14  ROD  A   DI  ROMA. 

praying  him  to  send  her  his  portrait.  He  had  accordingly 
sent  her  a  photograph  in  half-length.  Some  time  after- 
wards she  acknowledged  the  receipt  of  it,  but  indignantly 
remonstrated  with  him  for  sending  her  a  picture  of  a 
"mezz'  uomo,  che  pareva  guard ando  per  la  finest™"  (a 
half-man,  who  seemed  to  he  looking  out  of  the  window), 
as  she  oddly  characterized  a  half-length,  and  praying  to 
have  his  legs  also  in  the  next  portrait.  This  same  fellow, 
with  his  dull,  amiable  face,  played  the  role  of  a  ferocious 
wounded  brigand  dragged  into  concealment  by  his  wife,  in 
the  studio  of  a  friend  next  door ;  but  despite  thr  savagery 
and  danger  of  his  counterfeited  position,  he  was  sure  to 
be  overpowered  by  sleep  before  he  had  been  in  it  more 
than  five  minutes,  —  and  if  the  artist's  eye  left  him  for  a 
moment,  he  never  failed  to  change  his  attitude  for  one 
more  fitted  to  his  own  somnolent  propensities  than  for 
the  picture. 

Every  shopkeeper  among  the  lower  clashes  in  Rome  hires 
these  pifferari  to  play  before  the  little  shrine  behind  his 
counter,  or  over  his  door,  thinking  thereby  to  procure  the 
favor  of  the  Madonna,  without  which  his  business  is  sure 
not  to  prosper.  Padre  Bresciani  relates  that  in  the  year 
1849  he  heard  a  stout  Roman  woman  (un  gran'  pezzo  di 
donna,  —  a  great  piece  of  a  woman,  to  translate  literally) 
invoking  a  curse  upon  some  of  the  birbanti  then  abroad  in 
the  city,  after  this  manner,  —  "  Eh !  Madonna  Santis- 
sima,  mandate  un  accident e  a  'sti  birboni."  "  Send  an 
apoplexy  to  those  rascals,  most  holy  Madonna." 

"  But,  Sora  Agnese,"  remonstrated  the  padre,  "  you 
must  not  invoke  such  curses  upon  anybody.  You  should 
forgive  even  wicked  persons  if  you  love  the  Madonna." 

"  If  I  love  the  Madonna!  "  was  the  reply.  "  Fiyura- 
tevi,  sor  compare  mio  —  just  imagine  whether  I  love  her, 
when  every  year  I  hire  the  pifferari  to  play  the  novena 
to  her ! " 

But  the  Roman  pifferari  cannot  really  be  heard  to 
advantage  in  the  streets  of  Rome.  In  the  mountains  their 
pipe  and  bagpipe  produce  a  wholly  different  impression, 
and  I  remember  to  have  heard  them  once  towards  sun. 
down  at  San  Germane,  when  the  effect  was  charming. 


STREET  MUSIC  — BALLAD  SINGERS.          15 

Just  before  reaching  the  town,  the  road  passes  within  a 
stone's-throw  of  the  ancient  amphitheatre  built  by  Umidia 
Quadrafcilla,  and  mentioned  by  Pliny.  Here  we  ordered 
the  carriage  to  stop,  and  running  through  the  furrows  of  a 
ploughed  field  ascended  the  slope  of  the  hill  on  which  it 
stands.  Though  ruined  in  parts,  it  is  a  noble  structure ; 
the  exterior  walls  of  reticulated  work  are  still  in  good  con- 
dition, and  its  main  front  is  tolerably  perfect.  Time  has 
tinged  its  marble  facings  with  a  rich  yellow  hue,  but  has 
failed  to  eat  out  the  cement  or  to  shake  the  solid  courses  of 
its  stones.  Here  and  there  shrubs,  flowers,  and  one  or  two 
fig-trees  have  found  a  footing  and  grace  its  walls.  Climb- 
ing through  one  of  the  round  arches  of  entrance  which  is 
half  choked  with  rubbish,  we  found  ourselves  within  the 
enclosure.  The  interior  is  far  more  ruined  than  the  ex- 
terior ;  the  seats  are  all  crumbled  away  and  obliterated ; 
and  Indian  corn,  beans,  and  potatoes  were  growing  in  the 
arena.  As  we  stood  looking  in  silence  upon  this  sad  decay, 
we  heard  in  the  distance  the  pipe  and  bagpipe  of  some 
shepherds  playing  a  melancholy  pastoral  tune.  Nothing 
could  be  more  charming,  —  more  perfectly  in  rhyme  with 
the  mountains  and  the  ruins.  I  could  scarcely  have  be- 
lieved such  tones  could  come  from  a  bagpipe.  Softened  by 
the  distance,  they  lost  their  nasal  drawl,  and  stole  sweetly 
to  our  ears  with  that  special  charm  which  the  rudest 
national  music  has  when  heard  in  its  native  place.  Look- 
ing through  the  archway  over  the  distant  valley  and  moun- 
tains, we  listened  to  them,  enchanted.1 

The  pifferari  are  by  no  means  the  only  street  musicians 
in  Rome,  though  they  take  the  city  by  storm  at  Christmas. 
Every  day  under  my  window  comes  a  band  of  four  or  five, 
who  play  airs  and  concerted  pieces  from  the  operas,  — 
and  a  precious  work  they  make  of  it  sometimes  !  Not 
only  do  the  instruments  go  very  badly  together,  but  the 

1  The  pifferari,  I  regret  to  say,  are  no  longer  permitted  to  come 
into  Rome  and  play  their  novena  there  at  Christmas  and  New  Year. 
The  government  has  prohibited  them,  —  why,  I  have  not  been  able 
to  learn.  In  so  doing  it  has  obliterated  an  old  popular  usage,  which 
harmed  no  one,  and  had  a  special  charm  for  many. 


16  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

parts  they  play  are  not  arranged  for  them.  A  violone 
grunts  out  a  low  accompaniment  to  a  vinegar-sharp  violin 
which  saws  out  the  air,  while  a  trumpet  blares  in  %t  inter- 
vals to  endeavor  to  unite  the  two,  and  a  flute  does  what 
it  can,  but  not  what  it  would.  Sometimes,  instead  of  a 
violone,  a  hoarse  trombone,  with  a  violent  cold  in  the 
head,  snorts  out  the  bass  impatiently,  gets  ludicrously  un- 
controllable and  boastful  at  times,  and  is  always  so  choleric, 
that,  instead  of  waiting  for  the  cadenzas  to  finish,  it  bursts 
in,  knocks  them  over  as  by  a  blow  on  the  head,  roars  away 
on  false  intervals,  and  overwhelms  every  other  voice  with 
its  ovn  noisy  vociferation.  The  harmonic  arrangements 
are  very  odd.  Each  instrument  seems  to  consider  itself 
ill-treated  when  reduced  to  an  accompaniment  or  bass,  and 
is  constantly  endeavoring,  however  unfitted  for  it,  to  get 
possession  of  the  air,  —  the  melody  being,  for  all  Italians, 
the  principal  object.  The  violin,  however,  weak  of  voice 
as  it  is,  always  carries  the  day,  and  the  other  instruments 
steal  discontentedly  back  to  their  secondary  places,  the 
snuffy  old  violone  keeping  up  a  constant  growl  at  its  ill- 
luck,  and  the  trombone  now  and  then  leaping  out  like  a 
tiger  on  its  prey. 

Far  better  and  more  characteristic  are  the  ballad-singers, 
who  generally  go  in  couples,  —  an  old. man,  dim  of  sight, 
perhaps  blind,  who  plays  the  violin,  and  his  wife  or  daugh- 
ter, who  has  a  guitar,  tamborello,  or  at  times  a  mandolin. 
Sometimes  a  little  girl  accompanies  them,  sings  with  them, 
and  carries  round  a  tin  box,  or  the  tamborello,  to  collect 
baiocchi.  They  sing  long  ballads  to  popular  melodies, 
some  of  which  are  very  pretty  and  gay,  and  for  a  baiocco 
they  sell  a  sheet  containing  the  printed  words  of  the  song, 
and  headed  by  a  rude  woodcut.  Sometimes  it  is  in  the 
form  of  a  dialogue,  —  either  a  love-making,  a  quarrel,  a 
reconciliation,  or  a  leave-taking,  —  each  singer  taking  an 
alternate  verse.  Sometimes  it  is  a  story  with  a  chorus,  or 
a  religious  conversation  ballad,  or  a  story  of  a  saint,  or 
from  the  Bible.  Those  drawn  from  the  Bible  are  gener- 
ally very  curious  paraphrases  of  the  original  simple  text, 
turned  into  the  simplest  and  commonest  idioms  of  the 
people  ;  —  one  of  them  may  be  found  in  the  Appendix  to 


STREET  MUSIC.  17 

Goethe's  "  Italienische  Reise."  These  Roman  ballads  and 
popular  songs,  so  far  as  I  am  able  to  learn,  have  never 
been  collected.  Many  of  them  do  not  exist  in  print,  and 
are  only  traditional  and  caught  from  mouth  to  mouth. 
This  is  particularly  the  case  with  those  in  the  Romanesco 
dialect,  which  are  replete  with  the  peculiar  wit  and  spirit 
of  the  country.  But  the  memory  of  man  is  too  perilous  a 
repository  for  such  interesting  material ;  and  it  is  greatly 
to  be  wished  that  some  clever  Italian,  who  is  fitted  for  the 
task,  would  interest  himself  to  collect  them  and  give  them 
a  permanent  place  in  the  literature  of  his  language. 

But  to  return  to  our  ballad-singers,  whom  we  have  left 
in  the  middle  of  their  song,  and  who  are  now  finishing. 
A  crowd  has  gathered  round  them,  as  usual ;  out  of  the 
windows  and  from  the  balconies  lean  the  occupants  of  the 
houses  near  by,  and  the  baiocchi  thrown  by  them  ring  on 
the  pavement  below.  With  rather  stentorian  voices  they 
have  been  singing  a  dialogue  which  is  most  elaborately 
entitled  a  "  Canzonetta  Nuova,  sopra  un  marinaro  che  da 
1'  addio  alia  sua  promessa  sposa  mentre  egli  deve  partire 
per  la  via  di  Levante.  Sdegno,  pace,  e  matrimonio  delli 
medesimi  con  intercalare  sulP  aria  moderna.  Rime  di 
Francesco  Calzaroni "  —  (A  new  song  about  a  mariner, 
who  says  good-by  to  his  betrothed,  he  being  on  the  point 
of  leaving  her  to  go  to  the  East.  Indignation,  peace,  and 
marriage  of  the  same,  with  various  parts,  arranged  in  a 
modern  air).  I  give  my  baiocco,  and  receive  in  return  a 
smiling  "  Grazie  "  and  a  copy  of  the  song,  which  is  adorned 
by  a  woodcut  of  a  ship  in  full  sail. 

The  titles  of  these  ballads  are  generally  very  character- 
istic ;  one  or  two  of  them  I  will  here  copy  to  give  an  idea 
of  the  subjects  of  which  they  treat.  Here,  for  instance, 
is  "  The  Marriage  by  Concourse,  where  a  tailor,  a  barber, 
a  mason,  a  shoemaker,  a  carpenter,  a  locksmith,  and  a 
cook  are  the  suitors  ;  "  and  here  another,  which  treats  of 
"  The  Repentance  of  Young  Men  after  they  have  taken 
Wives ; "  and  one  called  a  "  New  Song  upon  a  quarrel 
between  a  mistress  and  her  servant,  whom  she  dismisses 
from  her  service  because  she  spends  too  much  money  every 
day  ;  "  and  one  entitled  "  The  Blind  Little  Peasant,  who 
2 


18  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

complains  of  the  wrongs  he  has  suffered  from  Menica,  and 
abandons  her  to  marry  another ;  "  and  here  is  "  a  most 
beautiful  composition  upon  an  old  woman  who  wishes  to 
dress  alia,  moda"  Here  is  another  of  a  moral  character, 
containing  the  sad  history  of  Frederick  the  Gambler,  who, 
to  jiylge  from  the  woodcut  accompanying  the  Canzonetta, 
must  have  been  a  ferocious  fellow.  He  stands  with  his 
legs  wide  apart,  in  half-armor,  a  great  sash  tied  over  his 
shoulder  and  swinging  round  his  legs,  an  immense  sword 
at  his  side,  and  a  great  hat  with  two  ostrich  feathers  on  his 
head,  looking  the  very  type  of  a  "  swashing  blade." 

The  singers  of  longer  ballads  carry  about  with  them 
sometimes  a  series  of  rudely-executed  illustrations  of  dif- 
ferent incidents  in  the  story,  painted  in  distemper  and 
pasted  on  a  large  pasteboard  frame,  which  is  hung  against 
a  wall  or  on  a  stand  planted  behind  the  singer  in  the 
ground.  Now  and  then  he  pauses  in  his  song  to  ex- 
plain these  to  the  audience,  and  they  are  sure  to  draw  a 
crowd. 

But  besides  these  ballads,  there  are  many  in  the  mouths 
of  the  people  which  are  far  more  interesting  and  char- 
acteristic than  any  to  be  found  in  print.  Here,  for  in- 
stance, is  one  which  Niccolina  is  constantly  singing,  and  it 
so  amused  me  by  its  odd  incidents  and  morals  that  I  wrote 
it  down  from  her  dictation.  It  is  evidently  only  a  frag- 
ment ;  but  it  was  all  she  knew,  and  she  declared  that  there 
was  no  more. 

' '  Donna  Lombard  a  perche  non  m'  ami  ? 
Perche  ho  marito  f    Se  hai  marito 
Fa  lo  morir !     T'  insegnero  ! 
Va  giu  in  giardino  del  Signer  Padre 
Che  c'  e  un  serpente,  —  Piglia  la  testa 
Di  quel  serpente,  —  Pista  la  bene  — 
Dopo  che  1'  hai  bene  pistato 
Mette  la  dentro  una  carafina  — 
Vien  a  casa  il  marito  tutto  sudato, 
E  chiede  da  bere  —  dagli  da  bere  ! 
Lui  demanda  cos'  e  quest'  aqua 
Tutta  torbida  ?     Son  tuoni  e  lamp! 
Del  altra  sera. "  1 

1  For  those  who  do  not  understand  the  original,  here  is  a  rough 
translation :  — 


STREET  MUSIC— SOSPIRI  D'  AM  ORE.         19 

But  despite  of  Niccolina,  there  is  more,  and  the  tragic 
end  is  averted  by  the  momentous  interposition  of  an  in- 
fant, three  months  old,  who,  when  the  wife  is  just  about 
to  administer  the  poison  to  her  husband,  suddenly  rises 
in  its  cradle  and  reproves  her  for  her  intended  crime,  and 
preaches  to  her  "  come  un  viro  santo  "  —  and  so  all  ends 
happily. 

Every  night  during  the  spi-ing,  and  sometimes  during 
the  clear  evenings  of  winter,  around  the  Piazza  Barberini 
may  be  heard  the  sound  of  the  guitar  playing  in  accom- 
paniment to  a  mandolin,  as  the  performers  march  up  and 
down  the  streets  or  stop  before  the  little  osterias  ;  and  as 
summer  comes  on,  and  the  evenings  grow  warm,  begin  the 
street  serenades,  —  sometimes  like  that  of  Lindoro  in  the 
opening  of  the  "  Barbiere  di  Sevilla,"  but  generally  with 
only  one  voice,  accompanied  by  the  same  instruments. 
These  serenades  are,  for  the  most  part,  given  by  a  lover  or 
friend  to  his  innamorata,  and  the  words  are  expressive  of 
the  tender  passion ;  but  there  are  also  serenate  di  gelosia, 
or  satirical  serenades,  when  the  most  impertinent  and  sting- 
ing verses  are  sung.  Long  before  arriving,  the  serenaders 
may  be  heard  marching  up  the  street  to  the  thrum  of  their 
instruments.  They  then  place  themselves  before  the  win- 
dows of  the  fair  one,  and,  surrounded  by  a  group  of  men 
and  boys,  make  proclamation  of  their  love  in  loud  and 
often  violent  tones.  It  seems  sometimes  as  if  they  con- 
sidered the  best  method  of  expressing  the  intensity  of  their 
passion  was  by  the  volume  of  their  voice.  Certainly,  in 
these  cases,  the  light  of  love  is  not  hidden  under  a  bushel, 
for  these  serenaders  shout  out  their  songs  in  stentorian 
tones,  that  pierce  the  silent  air  of  night,  and  echo  through 

"  Lady  from  Lombardy,  why  don't  you  love  me  ? 
Because  I  've  a  husband  !     If  you  've  a  husband, 
Cause  him  to  die.     I  '11  teach  you  how  ! 
Go  down  in  the  garden  of  your  signer  father, 
You  '11  find  a  serpent.     Take  from  the  serpent 
Only  his  head.     Crush  it  and  bray  it  ! 
After  you  've  crushed  it  and  brayed  it  completely, 
Mix  it  all  well  in  a  bottle  of  water. 
Home  comes  your  husband,  hot  and  perspiring, 
Asks  for  some  drink.     Give  him  to  drink  this  ! 
If  he  demand  of  you  why  is  this  water 
Turbid  like  this  ?  say  't  is  the  lightning 
And  thunder  last  evening." 


20  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

the  deserted  streets.  But  though  the  voices  are  harsh,  and 
the  music  rude  and  wild,  the  words  of  some  of  these  ser- 
enades are  very  pretty  and  graceful,  and  particularly  those 
that  go  by  the  name  of  "'  Sospiri  d'  amore  "  :  — 

"  Vorrei  che  la  finestra  omai  s'  aprisse, 
Vorrei  che  lo  naio  bene  s'  affacciasse, 
E  un  sospiro  d'  amore  lo  gradisse.' ' 

In  the  mountain  towns  the  contadini  know  by  heart 
hundreds  of  little  songlets,  which  they  shout  under  the 
windows  of  their  sposine  and  lady-loves.  Most  of  them 
consist  of  few  lines,  and  all  are  variations  upon  the  same 
theme.  The  stout  contadina  is  a  queen,  a  noble  lady,  a 
flower  of  beauty,  a  delicate  creature,  who  deprives  her 
lover  of  rest,  and  he  comes  to  kiss  the  ground  she  has 
trod  upon,  and  awakens  the  street  with  his  lamenting,  and 
prays  her  to  come  to  the  window  and  smile  upon  him. 
Love  transfigures  the  world,  and  the  peasant  uses  the 
noblest  language.  He  sings :  — 

"  Rizzatevi  d»l  letto  e  uscite  fuora, 
Venite  a  vede  il  cielo  quanto  e  bello ; 
II  vostro  viso  al  lume  della  luna 
Par  d'  un  angiolo  fatto  col  penello. 

"Oh  Rosa  delle  rose,  o  Rosa  bella, 
Per  te  non  dormo  ne  notte  ne  giorno, 
E  sempre  penso  alia  tua  faccia  bella, 
Alle  grazie  che  hai  faccio  ritorno. 
Faccio  ritorno  alle  grazie  che  hai : 
Ch'  io  ti  lasci,  amor  mio,  non  creder  maL 

"Miralo  il  cielo  e  mira  qnante  stelle, 
E  mira  quanti  nodi  in  quella  rete  ; 
Son  piu  le  pene  mie  che  non  son  chelle, 
Son  piu  le  pene  mie  che  dato  m'ete, 
Son  pin  le  pene  mie  ch'  e  tuoi  martiri ; 
Io  ti  amo  di  buon  cuore  e  tu  t'  adiri. 

'  Ti  vengo  a  visitare,  alma  regina, 
Ti  vengo  a  visitare  alia  tu'  casa ; 
Inginocchioni  per  tutta  la  via, 
Bacio  la  terra  andti  che  sei  passata : 
Bacio  la  terra,  e  risguardo  le  mura, 
Dove  se'  passa,  nobil  creatura. 


STREET  MUSIC  — RESPETTI.  21 

Bacio  la  terra,  e  risguardo  la  tetta 
Dove  passate,  nobil  giovanetta. 

' '  Vada  la  voce  mia  dentro  le  mura, 
Di  poi  che  vita  mia  non  pub  passare. 
Persona  bella,  delicata  e  pura, 
Da  dove  siete,  statenii  ad  ascoltare ; 
Statemi  ad  ascoltar,  persona  cara, 
Per  mia  consolazione  guardo  1'  aria ; 
Statemi  ad  ascoltar,  persona  pura, 
Per  mia  eonsolazion  guardo  le  mura. ' ' 

In  the  fulness  of  his  feelings  the  lover  invokes  blessings, 
not  only  upon  his  mistress,  but  also  on  the  house  and  all 
the  family :  — 

' '  In  questa  casa  non  ci  ho  piu  cantato  ; 
Vo'  domandar  1'  usanza  che  ci  sia. 
Se  c'  e  del  bene,  Dio  ce  lo  mantenga ! 
Se  c'  e  del  male,  Dio  lo  mandi  via! 
Vo'  benedir  quella  rosa  incarnata, 
E  lo  padrone  e  tutta  la  brigata  ; 
Vo'  benedir  quella  rosa  vermiglia, 
E  lo  padrone  e  tutta  la  f  amiglia. ' ' 

Sometimes,  when  his  mistress  lives  far  away  in  another 
town,  he  arrives  late  at  night,  and  sings  until  the  morning 
breaks,  the  bells  ring,  and  the  windows  begin  to  open : 
then  he  sings,  —  Farewell :  — 

"La  vedo  1'  alba  che  vuole  apparire, 
Chiedo  licenza,  e  non  vo'  piu  cantare, 
Che  le  finestre  si  vedono  aprire 
E  le  campane  si  sentono  sonare. 
E  si  sente  sonare  in  cielo  e  in  terra  ; 
Addio,  bel  gelsomin,  ragazza  bella. 
E  si  sente  sonare  in  cielo  e  in  Roma, 
Addio,  bel  gelsomin,  bella  persona. ' '  1 

1  These  serenades  will  all  be  found  in  the  Canti  Popolarl  Toscani, 
collected  by  Giuseppe.  Tigri. 

NOTE.  —  It  is  impossible  in  any  translation  to  give  the  graceful 
terms  of  expression  which  characterize  these  little  songs,  —  English 
is  not  the  language  of  love,  and  wants  the  endearing  diminutives  of 
the  Italian,  —  but  those  who  do  not  imderstand  the  original  will  find 
in  these  versions  the  sense,  if  not  the  grace,  of  these  verses :  — 

"  Rise  from  your  bed,  come  out  into  the  night ; 
Come,  see  the  sky,  so  beautiful  and  bright ; 
In  the  soft  splendor  of  the  moon  your  face  is 
Like  to  an  angel's,  that  an  artist  traces. 


22  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

The  technical  name  of  the  little  serenades  written  in 
this  form  of  eight  lines  is  "  Respetti,"  and  the  theme  of 
which  they  treat  is  love.  Sometimes  they  celebrate  the 
beauty  and  charms  of  the  maid  in  whose  honor  they  are 
sung;  sometimes  they  utter  bitter  complaints  against  her 
for  her  hardness  of  heart ;  and  sometimes  they  caricature 
her  and  turn  her  into  ridicule.  They  are  so  full  of  grace, 
have  so  many  happy  terms  of  sentiment  and  such  sim- 

"  Dear  Rose  of  roses,  Rose  of  loveliest  grace, 
For  thee  I  cannot  sleep  by  night  or  day, 
And  always  thinking  on  thy  happy  face 
And  all  thy  charms,  I  cannot  keep  away  — 
Always  returning  thy  sweet  face  to  see,  — 
Nor  dream,  dear  love,  that  I  can  ever  flee. 

"  Look  at  the  stars  that  sparkle  in  the  skies ! 
Behold  the  knots  that  in  this  net  are  wove  ! 
My  griefs  are  more  than  all  those  starry  eyes, 
More  than  those  knots,  that  you  have  made  by  love  I 
But  though  my  pains  are  more  than  yours  can  be,  — 
Loving  with  all  my  heart  —  you  turn  from  me. 

"I  come,  dear  maid,  to  visit  your  abode — 
I  come  to  see  you,  and  to  sing  my  song  — 
And  kneeling  all  the  way  along  the  road, 
I  kiss  the  ground  where  you  have  passed  along ; 
I  kiss  the  ground,  and  gaze  upon  the  wall 
Where  you  have  passed,  oh,  noblest  maid  of  all ! 
I  kiss  the  ground,  and  gaze  upon  the  eaves 
Whose  roof,  oh,  noble  maid,  your  form  receives ! 

"  Go !  voice  of  mine,  these  walls  to  penetrate, 
Since  where  thou  art,  my  love,  I  cannot  go. 
Oh,  maiden  lovely,  pure,  and  delicate, 
From  where  you  lie  listen  to  me  below  ! 
List  to  my  song,  oh,  dearest  and  most  fair ! 
Who,  to  console  me,  gaze  into  the  air ! 
List  to  my  song,  oh,  purest  one  of  all, 
Who,  to  console  me,  gaze  at  this  blank  wall. 

"  Within  this  house  I  never  sang  before,  — 

I  wish  the  friendship  of  the  house  to  pray ; 

II  there  be  good  —  God  keep  it  evermore  1 
If  there  be  ill  —  God  drive  the  ill  away  ! 

I  wish  that  fair  and  blushing  rose  to  bless, 
And  bring  the  house  and  master  happiness. 
Oh,  crimson  rose !  my  blessing  rest  on  thee, 
And  on  the  master  and  his  family  I 

"  I  see  the  dawn  which  now  begins  to  break, 
I  take  my  leave  and  will  no  longer  sing, 
The  windows  open  and  the  world  's  awake, 
And  everywhere  the  bells  begin  to  ring. 
In  earth  and  heaven  I  hear  them  ringing  clear. 
Farewell,  sweet  jasmine,  lovely  maid  and  dear; 
In  heaven  and  Rome  I  hear  them  ring  and  knell, 
Farewell,  fair  maid,  beloved  one,  farewell !  " 


STREET  MUSIC  —  RES  PETTI.  23 

plicity  and  grace  of  expression,  that  I  am  tempted  to  add 
a  few  more  specimens  of  them,  which  I  find  transcribed  by 
Professor  Stanislao  Bianciardi,  who  is  himself  the  author 
of  a  number  of  these  little  poems,  in  which  the  popular 
spirit  has  been  so  admirably  caught  that  peasant  and  peo- 
ple have  adopted  them  as  their  own ;  and  even  learned 
professors  have  been  taken  in.  In  fact,  the  first  and  one 
of  the  most  graceful  of  those  which  I  have  translated 
above,  beginning 

"  Rizzatevi  dal  letto  e  uscite  fuora," 

is  from  his  pen.  But  I  count  it  no  shame  to  have  fallen 
into  the  error  of  supposing  it  to  be  a  popular  respetto, 
since  I  share  that  error  with  Tommaseo  and  the  Abate 
Tigri. 

"  O  gentilina,  gentilina  tutta  ! 
Garofanate  son  vostre  parole, 
E  1'  alito  che  v'esce  dalla  boeca 
Odora  piu  d'  un  mazzo  di  viole. 

Odora  piu  d'  un  mandrulo  e  d'  un  pino 
La  bella  bocca,  e  il  bel  parlar  divino. 

Odora  piu  d'  un  mandrulo  e  d'  un  pesco 
La  bella  bocca,  e  il  bel  parlare  onesto. 

"  L'  e  tanto  tempo  che  1'  eramo  muti, 
Deccuci  ritornati  alia  f  avella  ; 
E  1'  angiuli  del  cielo  son  vienuti, 
L'  hanno  porta  la  pace  in  taut  a  guerra. 

E  son  vienuti  1'  angiuli  d'  Amore 
L'  hanno  porta  la  pace  nel  mio  cuore. 

E  son  vienuti  1'  angiuli  di  Dio 
L'  hanno  porta  la  pace  nel  cuor  mio. 

' '  Hai  il  viso  bianco  piu  della  farina 

Dove  1'  ha  poste  Iddio  tante  bellezze ; 
Quando  passate  voi  1'  aria  s'  inchina, 
Tutte  le  stelle  vi  fanno  carezze. 

Dove  passate  voi  1'  aria  si  f  erma  ; 
Sete  in  cielo  d'  amor  la  vaga  stella. 

Dove  passate  voi  1'  aria  si  posa  ; 
Sete  in  giardin  d'  amor  la  vaga  rosa. 

"  0  rondinella  che  voli  pell'  aria, 

Ritorna  addreto,  e  f  ammelo  un  piacere  ; 
E  dammela  una  penna  di  tu'  alia, 


24  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

Che  scrivero  una  lettera  al  mio  bene : 

Quando  1'  aver&  scritta,  e  fatta  bella 
Ti  rendero  la  penna,  o  rondinella. 

"  Nel  passar  per  la  vetta  di  quel  monte 
Al  tuo  bel  nome  mi  venne  pensato ; 
Mi  raessi  ingiuocchioni  a  mani  gionte 
Ginrai  d'  amarti  infin  ch'  aver&  fiato. 

Giurai  d'  amarti  infin  che  aver6  core, 
La  morte  saran  1'ultime  parole. 

Giurai  d'  amarti  infin  che  avero  vita, 
La  morte  sara  1'  ultima  partita."  1 

Another  form  of  popular  song  is  to  be  found  in  the 
Ritornelli,  which  consist  of  only  three  lines,  the  first  of 

1  Oh,  full  of  grace,  all  grace  from  head  to  foot  1 
Your  words  are  like  carnations  the  dew  wets. 
The  breath  that  issues  from  your  gentle  mouth 
Is  sweeter  than  a  bunch  of  violets ; 
And  sweeter  than  the  almond  and  the  pine 
Your  lovely  mouth  and  your  fair  speech  divine ; 
And  sweeter  than  the  almond  or  the  peach 
Your  lovely  mouth  and  your  frank  honest  speech. 

How  long  is  it  that  we  have  both  been  dumb  ? 
But  now  we  have  begun  to  speak  once  more. 
And  angels  out  of  heaven  to  us  are  come 
To  bring  us  peace  after  so  long  a  war. 
Angels  of  love  are  come  to  heal  my  pain 
And  to  this  heart  of  mine  bring  peace  again. 
Angels  of  God  are  come  with  love  divine 
To  bring  their  peace  unto  this  heart  of  mine. 

Whiter  than  flour  is  that  pale  face  of  thine 
Where  God  hath  placed  such  beauty  and  such  graces, 
That  when  you  pass  the  very  winds  incline 
And  all  the  stars  above  you  send  caresses. 
Whene'er  you  pass,  the  hushed  winds  cease  to  move, 
Oh,  loveliest  star  in  all  the  heaven  of  love ! 
Whene'er  you  pass,  the  winds  in  peace  repose, 
And  in  Love's  garden  you  're  the  loveliest  rose. 

Oh,  swallow  flying  swiftly  down  the  wind, 
Return  and  grant  me,  please,  one  boon  to-night, 
And  from  your  wings  one  little  feather  lend, 
That  I  a  letter  to  my  love  may  write  ; 
And  when  't  is  written  out  all  fair  and  clear 
I  will  give  back  the  pen,  O  swallow  dear  1 

As  o'er  the  crest  of  yonder  hill  I  passed 
The  thought  of  thy  sweet  name  came  over  me, 
And  kneeling  on  the  ground  my  hands  I  clasped 
And  pledged,  while  life  should  last,  my  love  to  thee. 
I  swore  to  love  thee,  long  as  beats  this'  heart, 
Till  death  with  its  last  words  our  lives  dispart. 
I  swore  to  love  thee  long  as  life  remains, 
Till  death  dispart  us  with  its  last  sad  pains. 


STREET  MUSIC  — RITORNELLI.  25 

which  is  often,  though  not  necessarily,  the  invocation  of  a 
flower.  These  are  sung  to  a  wild  strident  air,  and  may 
be  heard  all  over  the  Campagna  and  in  the  country  towns, 
as  well  as  in  the  city.  Wherever  there  is  a  knot  of  women 
washing  at  a  fountain,  or  a  band  of  workmen  coming  from 
the  fields,  or  a  line  of  carrettieri  with  their  wine  carts 
rattling  to  Rome,  you  are  pretty  sure  to  hear  at  intervals 
these  snatches  of  melody.  As  you  drive  along  the  Cam- 
pagna they  reach  you  from  the  distance  in  a  long  sad  wail 
or  "dying  fall,"  sung  by  the  peasant  as  he  tills  the 
ground.  Sometimes  a  lonely  workman  solaces  his  toil  by 
screaming  them  at  the  top  of  his  voice  ;  sometimes  a  group 
alternately  answer  each  other  with  their  ritorneUL  There 
are  myriads  of  them  scattered  everywhere  over  the  moun- 
tains and  towns  like  wild  flowers,  and  all  to  be  had  for  the 
gathering.  But  it  is  only  of  late  days  that  there  has  been 
any  effort  to  collect  these  wild  songs,  that  would  well 
repay  the  trouble.  The  thanks  of  all  lovers  of  natural  and 
popular  poetry  are  due  to  Mr.  C.  Blessig,  who  has  lately 
collected  and  printed  some  400  of  these  Roman  ritornelli, 
all  of  which,  he  tells  us,  were  transcribed  from  the  mouth 
of  the  people  themselves.  In  his  preface  he  informs  us 
that  he  has  also  made  a  collection  of  Ottave,  Tarantelle 
and  Canzonette,  which,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  will  be  soon  pub- 
lished. The  following,  which  I  have  taken  from  Mr. 
Blessig's  collection,  will  give  an  idea  of  the  character  of 
the  Roman  ritornelli :  — 

"  Fior  di  Genestra ! 

La  vostra  mamma  non  vi  marita  apposta, 
Par  non  levar  quel  fior  dalla  finestra. 

"  Fior  di  More  ! 

Te  1'  hai  rubate  le  perle  allo  mare 
Al  albero  li  frutti,  a  me  sto  cuore. 

"  Fiore  di  Mele  ! 

Pare  che  non  ci  possiamo  abbandonare 
Fra  voi  e  me  qualche  cosetta  c'  ene. 

"  Fiore  di  Timo  ! 

Venti  psrsone  e  piii  tenete  al  remo, 
E  poi  volete  dir  ch'  lo  sono  il  primo 


26  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

"  Fior  di  Nocca ! 

Non  la  potei  baciar  la  tua  boccuccia 
Baciai  la  canipaiiella  della  porta. 

"  Fiore  dell'  Ormo ! 
Quando  che  scrissi  donna  scrissi  danno 
Scrissi  la  rovina  di  questo  mondo. 

"  Fiore  di  Riso  ! 

E  Gesu  Cristo  lo  voglio  per  sposo 
La  Festa  la  faremo  in  Paradiso. 

"  Fior  di  Piselli ! 

Come  vi  stanno  ben  quest!  coralli ! 
Come  al  somaro  inio  li  campanelli. 

"  Fiore  di  Pepe ! 
Moriro,  morirb,  non  dubitate 
Quando  morta  sar6,  mi  chiamerete. 

"Fior  di  Granato! 
La  vedovella  che  non  ha  marito 
Mi  pare  un  palazzetto  spigionato, 

"Fiore  diMento! 

La  Roba  va  e  vien'  come  va  il  vento 
La  donna  bella  fa  1'  uomo  contento. 

' '  Fior  di  Gramiccia  ! 
Quando  sta  sto  prete  per  dir  sta  messa 
Lo  iiiin  amor  va  di  f uori  e  fisclria. 

' '  Fiore  di  Menta ! 
Quando  sar&  quella  giornata  santa 
Che  il  prete  mi  dirk :   'Siete  contenta.* 

"Fiore  di  Canna! 

Quando  le  tue  bellezze  vanno  alia  vigna, 
Cielo !  quanto  risplende  la  campagna ! 

"  Fior  di  Carote ! 
A  pnnta  di  pianella  camminate 
Con  tanta  civiltk  ci  vuol  la  dote. 

"  Oh  bella  sei ! 

Porti  la  canocchia,  indove  tu  vai, 
E  fili  o  non  fili,  tu  bella  sei. 

"  Occhi  negrelli  I 
O  !   quanto  pagherei  per  rivederli 
Gl'  occhietti  del  mio  amor  graziosi  e  belli. 


STREET  MUSIC  — RITORNELLL  27 

"  In  cima  d'  un  nionte 
Volo  'na  tortorella  sulle  spalle 
Mi  disse  :    '  Lo  tuo  ben  mo  va  alia  fonte0" 

Sta  notte  m'  insognavo  ehe  morivo 
Con  tanto  desiderio  vi  chiamavo 
Dicendo  :    ''  Dammi  ajuto  cuore  mio !  " 

Avete  la  boccuccia  piccinina ; 
Quando  m'  avete  a  dir  qualche  parola 
Sempre  me  la  fate  la  risatina. 

Se  il  Papa  mi  donasse  tutta  Roma, 

E  mi  dicesse  ;   "  lascia  andar  chi  t'  ama," 

lo  gli  direi,  ' '  di  no,  sacra  Corona. ' ' 

Voglio  pigliar  marito  a  Pasqua  Rosa, 
E  non  mi  euro  se  n'  c'  e  niente  in  casa, 
Quando  c'  e  il  marito,  c'  e  ogni  cosa. 

Non  la  pigliate  bianca,  ch  'e  sciapita  ; 
Non  la  pigliate  rossa,  ch'  &  focosa 
Pigliala  moretta,  ch'  e  saporita. 

"  E  per  marito  voglio  un  muratore 
Mi  fa  la  camerella  per  dormire 
E  la  finestrella  per  far  1'  amore. 

"  E  qnanto  suona  ben  sto  violino 
Massimamente  chi  lo  porta  in  mnno 
E  dice  '  Balla,  Balla,  Ballerina !  ' 

"  E  quanto  suona  ben  questa  chitarra, 
Massimamente  1'  ultima  cordicella  — 
Mi  pare  lo  mio  amore  quando  parla. 

"  La  gioventu  e  casa  senza  scale, 
E  un  bastimento  in  mar  1'  eta  virile, 
Ed  e  1'  eta  canuta  uno  spedale. 

"  Garofalo  piantato  alia  finestra, 
Prima  si  custodisce,  e  poi  s'  innacqua, 
E  poi  si  ricoglie  un  giorno  di  f  esta. 

"  Ho  colto  unarosetta  nel  giardino 

lo  sono  il  giardiniero  che  1'  adora  . 

Colsi  la  rosa  e  mi  pungi6  lo  spino." 


28  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

Flower  of  the  broom  ! 

For  this  your  mother  \vill  not  marry  you  — 
Not  to  deprive  her  window  of  your  bloom. 

Flower  of  the  blackberry  ! 

'T  is  you  that  steal  the  pearls  from  out  the  sea, 
And  from  the  tree  its  fruit  —  and,  ah !  my  heart  from  me. 

Flower  of  the  apple-tree ! 
It  seems  we  never  quite  can  quit  each  other, 
Some  little  thing  there  is  'twixt  you  and  me. 

Flower  of  the  thyme ! 

Twenty  and  more  you  keep  them  at  the  oar 
Till  you  pretend  to  say  — I  'm  first  and  prime. 

O  nocca  flower ! 

I  could  not  kiss  that  little  mouth  of  yours, 
And  so  I  kissed  the  bell  upon  the  door. 

Flower  of  the  elm ! 

When  I  wrote  woman,  I  wrote  also  woe-mant 
The  ruin  wrote  that  will  the  world  overwhelm. 

Flower  of  the  rice ! 

And  Jesus  Christ  for  husband  I  desire, 
And  we  our  fete  will  keep  in  Paradise. 

Flower  of  the  pea ! 
Just  as  becoming  corals  are  to  you, 
As  on  my  donkey  little  bells  would  be. 

Flower  of  clove ! 

Oh  !  I  shall  die,  shall  die,  —  you  need  not  fear ; 
But  when  I  'm  dead,  then  you  will  call  me,  Love. 

Flower  of  pomegranate-plants ! 
The  little  widow  with  no  husband  seems 
An  unlet  palace  that  a  lodger  wants. 

Flower  of  mint ! 

Things  come  and  go  as  comes  and  goes  the  wind ; 
But  a  dear  woman  makes  a  man  content. 

Flower  of  the  thistle  ! 

While  this  old  priest  is  saying  here  his  mass, 
I  hear  my  love  outside  pass  by  and  whistle. 

Flower  of  the  mint ! 

Oh,  when  will  come  to  me  that  blessed  day 
When  the  priest  says  to  me,  "  Are  you  content  ?  " 


STREET  MUSIC— RITORNELLI.  29 

Flower  of  the  cane  ! 

When  to  the  vineyard  all  your  beauty  goes, 
Heavens,  how  the  whole  campagna  glows  again ! 

O  carrot  flower ! 

How  nice  you  step  upon  your  slippers'  points, 
You  are  so  dainty,  —  you  should  have  a  dower. 

Oh,  you  are  fair ! 

The  distaff  wheresoe'er  you  go  you  bear, 
And  if  you  spin  or  spin  not,  you  are  fair. 

O  dark  eyes  dear ! 

What  would  I  give  to  see  you  once  again, 
My  love's  sweet  eyes,  so  gracious  and  so  clear  ? 

High  up  upon  the  mountain 
There  flew  a  turtle-dove  above  my  shoulder 
And  said,  "Your  love  's  now  going  to  the  fountain." 

Last  night,  asleep,  I  dreamed  that  I  was  dying, 

And  such  a  longing  for  you  haunted  me, 

That  "  heart  of  mine,  oh,  help  me,"  I  kept  crying. 

That  little  mouth  is  sweet  as  mouth  can  be ; 
Whenever  you  've  a  word  or  two  to  say 
You  always  make  that  little  smile  for  me. 

If  the  Pope  offered  all  Rome  to  bestow, 

And  said  t»  me,  ' '  Let  him  who  loves  you,  go  !  " 

I  'd  say  to  him :   "  Oh,  Holy  Rosary,  no !  " 

A  husband  I  will  have  before  the  spring ! 
I  care  not  if  there  's  nothing  in  the  house, 
When  there  's  a  husband,  there  is  everything. 

Choose  her  not  white,  for  then  she  has  no  savor  ! 
Choose  her  not  red,  or  fiery  you  will  have  her ! 
But  choose  her  dark,  for  then  she  's  full  of  flavor! 

A  mason  for  my  husband  I  will  take, 
.  To  build  me  a  little  room  where  I  may  sleep, 
And  a  little  window  where  I  love  may  make. 

How  sweetly  sounds  the  violin  you  play, 
And  most  when  you  who  hold  it  in  your  hand 
Cry,  ' '  Dance,  my  merry  dancers,  dance  away. ' ' 

And  oh,  how  sweet  the  sound  of  that  guitar ! 
And  most  of  all  that  last  dear  little  string  ; 
It  seems  as  if  my  love  were  talking  there. 


30  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

Youth  is  a  house  that  has  no  stairs  at  all, 
And  like  a  ship  at  sea  is  manhood's  prime, 
And  hoary  age  is  but  a  hospital. 

The  spiced-carnation  at  the  •window  planted, 
First  carefully  we  keep  and  then  we  water, 
Then  pluck  when  for  a  festal  day  't  is  wanted. 

I  in  the  garden  plucked  a  rose  this  morn, 

I  am  th^i  gardener,  who  adore  this  rose ; 

I  plucked  it,  and  it  pricked  me  with  its  thorn. 

Among  the  Trasteverini,  particularly,  these  serenades 
are  common.  Some  of  them  are  very  clever  in  their  im- 
provisations and  imitations  of  different  dialects,  particu- 
larly of  the  Neapolitan,  in  which  there  are  so  many 
charming  songs.  Their  skill  in  improvisation,  however, 
is  not  generally  displayed  in  their  serenades,  but  in  the 
osterias,  during  the  evenings  of  the  festas  in  summer. 
There  it  is  that  their  quickness  and  epigrammatic  turn  of 
expression  are  hest  seen.  Two  disputants  will,  when  in 
good-humor  and  warmed  with  wine,  string  off  verse  after 
verse  at  each  other's  expense,  full  of  point  and  fun,  —  the 
guitar  burring  along  in  the  intervals,  and  a  chorus  of 
laughter  saluting  every  good  hit. 

It  is  not  uncommon  for  those  who  like  to  study  Roman 
manners  and  humors,  and  eat  truly  Roman  dishes,  to  make 
up  a  little  party  and  dine  at  the  Palombella,  or  some  other 
osteria  con  cucina  in  the  Trastevere.  There,  however,  if 
you  would  get  a  taste  of  the  real  spirit  of  the  Romans,  you 
should  go  incognito  and  take  your  place  at  the  tables  in 
the  common  room,  and  pass,  if  you  can,  for  one  of  them, 
or  at  least  not  for  a  looker-on  or  a  listener.  One  other 
thing  also  is  essential,  and  that  is,  that  you  should  under- 
stand their  language  well ;  and  then,  if  you  are  lucky,  you 
will  be  rewarded  for  your  pains  by  hearing  capital'songs 
and  improvisations. 

One  lucky  night  I  shall  never  forget,  when  we  made  a 
little  party  of  artists  and  poets  and  dined  together  in  a 
little  osteria  not  far  from  the  Piazza  Barberini.  Peppo, 
the  Neapolitan  "cook,  gave  us  an  excellent  dinner,  wonder- 
ful macaroni  and  capital  wine,  and  while  we  ate  and 


STREET  MUSIC— Zl A  NICA'S  TARANTELLA.     31 

drank,  a  guitar  and  mandoline  in  the  adjoining  room 
made  a  low  accompaniment  to  our  talk.  We  went  in  our 
worst  coats  and  most  crumpled  hats,  tried  to  attract  as 
little  attention  as  possible,  and  sat  at  a  table  in  the  corner. 
The  rest  of  the  company  was  composed  solely  of  working 
men,  several  of  whom  were  carters,  who  came  in  after 
their  hard  day's  work  to  take  a  temperate  supper  in  their 
shirt-sleeves.  Yet  even  in  what  is  called  the  "  best  so- 
ciety "  you  will  not  find  simpler  or  better  mariners,  at 
once  removed  from  servility  and  defiance.  They  soon 
saw  that  we  were  not  of  their  class,  but  their  behavior  to 
us  was  perfect.  All  the  staring  was  done  by  us.  They 
accepted  courteously  our  offers  to  drink  with  them,  and  of- 
fered us  of  their  wine  in  return.  Then  they  talked  and 
jested  and  played  at  Passatello  with  inimitable  good- 
humor  ;  while  old  Zia  Nica,  the  padrona  of  the  establish- 
ment, sat  in  the  middle  of  the  shabby  old  pot-house,  looking 
with  sharp  wild  eyes  out  from  under  a  gray  fell  of  tumbled 
hair  —  now  shrieking  out  her  orders,  now  exchanging  with 
the  new-comers  keen  jokes  that  flashed  like  knives,  and  were 
received  with  tumultuous  applause.  As  our  dinner  drew 
to  a  close  we  had  in  the  mandolin  and  guitar,  and  all  the 
opera  tunes  were  played  with  great  cleverness.  Was  there 
ever  a  better  mandolin  ?  —  how  it  tingled  and  quivered 
as  it  nervously  rang  out  the  air,  with  its  stinging  vibrations 
and  tense  silvery  shakes,  while  the  soft  woolly  throb  of  the 
guitar  kept  up  a  constant  accompaniment  below  !  The  old 
cobwebs  on  the  dusky,  soiled,  and  smoky  beams  of  the 
ceiling,  where  the  colors  of  faded  frescoes  were  still  to  be 
seen,  shook  to  the  music,  and  the  flame  of  the  little  onion- 
shaped  light  before  the  coarsely-painted  engraving  of  the 
Madonna  seemed  to  wink  in  sympathy.  Old  Zia  Nica 
herself  grew  excited  when  a  spirited  Tarantella  was 
played.  She  had  danced  it  when  young  in  Naples.  "  Che 
bella  cosa !  and  I  could  dance  it  now,"  she  cried.  — 
"  Brava,  Zia  Nica  !  —  give  us  a  Tarantella,"  was  the  cry 
all  round.  "  Eh  !  Perche  no  ?  "  —  and  up  she  stood  and 
shook  her  long  fell  of  hair,  and  laughed  a  wild  laugh,  and 
showed  her  yellow  teeth,  and  up  and  down  the  old  osteria 
she  shuffled  and  tramped,  flinging  up  her  hands  and  snap- 


32  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

ping  her  fingers,  and  panting  and  screaming,  till  at  last 
with  a  whoop  she  fell  down  into  her  chair,  planted  her  two 
hands  akimbo  on  her  knees,  glared  at  the  company,  and 
cried  out,  "  Old  Zia  Nica  's  not  dead  yet.  No,  Siynori  f 
The  old  woman  is  not  so  old  but  that  she  can  dance  a 
Tarantella  still  —  grazie  a  Dio  —  no,  Siyiiori-i-i-i." 

Scarcely  was  this  performance  finished  when  the  glass 
door  jingled  at  the  entrance  of  a  little  middle-aged  fellow 
who  had  come  across  the  street  for  a  fiasco  of  wine.  He 
was  received  with  a  shout  of  welcome.  "  Give  us  a  toast 
in  rhyme,"  cried  one.  "  Bravo !  give  us  a  toast  in 
rhyme,"  echoed  all ;  and  spinning  round  on  his  feet  with 
a  quick,  eager  face,  and  flinging  out  his  hands  with  ner- 
vous gesticulation,  he  suddenly,  in  a  high  voice,  poured  out 
a  volley  of  humorous  rhymes  upon  one  after  another  of 
his  friends,  then  launched  a  brindisi  at  us,  and  —  hey, 
presto  change  !  —  was  out  of  the  door  in  a  minute,  the 
sharp  bell  jingling  as  he  closed  it,  and  a  peal  of  laughter 
pursuing -him.  So  being  in  the  humor,  we  called  for  some 
improvisation,  and  the  mandoline  and  guitar  began  an  air 
and  accompaniment  in  ottava  rima.  After  a  minute  or 
two,  one  of  the  men  at  the  head  of  the  table  opposite 
broke  out  in  a  loud  voice,  and  sang,  or  rather  chanted,  a 
strophe ;  and  scarcely  had  the  instruments  finished  the 
little  ritornello,  when  another  answered  him  in  a  second 
strophe;  —  to  this  he  responded,  and  so  alternately  for 
some  time  the  improvisation  went  on  without  a  break. 
Then  suddenly  rose  from  the  opposite  end  a  third  person, 
a  carter,  who  poured  out  two  or  three  strophes  without 
stopping ;  and  after  him  still  another  carter  broke  in.  So 
that  we  had  four  persons  improvising  in  alternation.  This 
lasted  a  full  half-hour,  and  during  the  whole  time  there 
was  not  a  pause  or  hesitation.  The  language  used  was 
uncommonly  good,  and  the  ideas  were  of  a  character  you 
would  little  have  anticipated  from  such  a  company.  The 
theme  was  art  and  love  and  poetry  and  music,  and  some 
of  the  recitation  was  original  and  spirited.  Out  of  Italy 
could  anything  like  this  be  seen  ?  But  the  sound  of  music 
and  songs  had  reached  the  ears  of  the  police,  and  tin  ir 
white-barred  figures  and  ohapeaux  appeared  at  the  ^.oor, 


STREET  MUSIC  — AT  THE  FOUNTAINS.      33 

and  despite  all  our  prayers  they  stopped  the  improvisa- 
tion. This  broke  up  the  fun,  and  it  was  then  proposed 
that  we  should  go  to  the  Colosseum  in  two  carriages  with 
the  music.  No  sooner  said  than  done.  Off  ran  Antonio 
for  the  carriages,  and  in  a  few  minutes  we  were  on  our 
way,  through  the  Corso  and  down  through  the  Forum,  the 
mandolin  and  guitar  playing  all  the  way. 

Such  a  night  would  be  incomplete  without  a  serenade  ; 
for  the  mandolin  and  guitar  were  made  for  such  uses. 
So  we  stopped  under  the  windows  of  one  fair  lady,  and 
though  our  voices  were  loud,  I  fear  they  never  reached 
her,  as  she  happened  not  to  be  within  a  dozen  or  more 
miles  of  us. 

In  many  of  the  back  streets  and  squares  of  the  city, 
fountains  jet  out  of  lions'  heads  into  great  oblong  stone 
cisterns,  often  sufficiently  large  to  accommodate  some 
thirty  washerwomen  at  once.  Here  the  common  people 
resort  to  wash  their  clothes,  and  with  great  laughter  and 
merriment  amuse  themselves  while  at  their  work  by  im- 
provising verses,  sometimes  with  rhyme,  sometimes  with- 
out, at  the  expense  of  each  other,  or  perhaps  of  the  passer- 
by, —  particularly  if  he  happen  to  be  a  gaping  forestiere, 
to  whom  their  language  is  unintelligible.  They  stand  on 
an  elevated  stone  step,  so  as  to  bring  the  cistern  about 
mid-hoight  of  their  body,  and  on  the  rough  inclined  bevel 
of  its  rim  they  slash  and  roll  the  clothes,  or,  opening  them, 
flaunt  them  into  the  water,  or  gather  them  together,  lift- 
ing their  arms  high  above  their  heads,  and  always  treating 
them  with  a  violence  which  nothing  but  the  coarsest  mate- 
rial can  resist.  The  air  to  which  they  chant  their  couplets 
is  almost  always  a  Campagna  melody.  Sharp  attacks  are 
given  and  as  sharp  replies  received,  in  exceeding  good  hu- 
mor ;  and  when  there  is  little  wit  there  is  sure  to  be  much 
laughter.  The  salt  is  oftentimes  pretty  coarse,  but  it  gives 
a  relish  to  the  talk. 

A  remarkable  trait  among  the  Italians  is  the  good-nature 
with  which  they  take  personal  jokes,  and  their  callousness 
to  ridicule  of  personal  defects.  Jests  which  would  provoke 
a  blow  from  an  Anglo-Saxon,  or  wound  and  rankle  in  the 
memory  for  life,  are  here  taken  in  good  part.  A  cripple 


34  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

often  joins  in  the  laugh  at  his  own  deformity ;  and  the 
rough  carelessness  with  wliich  such  personal  misfortunes 
are  alluded  to  is  amazing  to  us  of  a  more  sensitive  organi- 
zation. I  well  remember  the  extreme  difficulty  I  once  had 
in  breaking  an  Italian  servant  of  the  habit  of  announcing 
an  acquaintance,  whose  foreign  name  he  could  not  pro- 
nounce, and  who  had  the  misfortune  to  be  hump-backed, 
as  " quel  gobbo"  (that  hunchback).  He  could  not  under- 
stand why  he  should  not  call  him  a  gobbo,  if  he  was  a 
gobbo ;  vainly  I  remonstrated  with  him,  over  and  over 
again  I  repeated  the  name  and  forced  him  to  repeat  it, 
until  finally  I  thought  he  had  learned  it.  "  Now  remem- 
ber," I  said,  "  and  call  the  gentleman  by  his  name  when 
he  calls  again."  "  Si,  Signore,  non  dubiti  "  (don't  doubt 
it).  Shortly  after,  my  acquaintance  called  one  evening. 
The  servant  opened  the  door  to  announce  him  and  began 
"  II  Signore"  then  he  hesitated  ;  tried  it  again,  blundered, 
and  ended  by  crying  out,  "  Oh  !  Dio  !  e  U  solito  gobbo,  Sig- 
nore "  (It  is  the  usual  hunchback),  when  il  gobbo  was  close 
to  his  heels. 

The  Italians  are  also  singularly  free  from  that  intense 
self-consciousness  which  runs  in  our  English  blood,  and  is 
the  root  of  shyness,  awkwardness,  and  affectation.  Un- 
consciousness is  the  secret  of  grace,  freedom,  and  simplic- 
ity. We  never  forget  ourselves.  The  Italians  always  for- 
get themselves.  They  are  sometimes  proud,  very  seldom 
vain,  and  never  affected.  The  converse  peculiarity  follows, 
of  course  :  having  no  self-consciousness,  they  are  as  little 
sensitive  to  their  defects  as  vain  of  their  charms.  The 
models  who  come  to  the  studios,  and  who  have  been  se- 
lected for  their  beauty,  despite  the  silent  flattery  incident  to 
their  very  profession,  and  the  lavish  price  they  constantly 
hear  expressed,  are  always  simple,  natural,  and  unaffected. 
If  you  tell  them  they  are  very  beautiful,  they  say,  "  Ma 
che  !  "  deprecatorily,  or  perhaps  admit  the  fact.  But  they 
are  better  pleased  to  have  their  dress  admired  than  their 
faces.  Of  the  former  they  are  vain,  of  the  latter  they  are 
not.  For  the  most  part,  I  think  they  rather  wonder  what 
it  is  we  admire  in  them  and  think  worthy  of  perpetuating 
in  stone  or  color. 


STREET  MUSIC— COBBLERS.  35 

But  to  return  to  our  washerwomen.  In  every  country 
town  a  large  washing-cistern  is  always  provided  by  the 
authorities  for  public  use ;  and  at  all  hours  of  the  day, 
the  picturesque  figures  of  the  peasants  of  every  age,  from 
the  old  hag,  whose  skin,  once  smooth  and  blooming,  is  now 
like  a  brown  and  crumpled  palimpsest  (where  Anacreontic 
verses  are  overwritten  by  a  dull  monkish  sermon),  to  the 
round,  dark-eyed  girl,  with  broad,  straight  back  and  shin- 
ing hair,  may  be  seen  gathered  around  it,  —  their  heads 
protected  from  the  sun  by  their  folded  tovaglie,  their 
skirts  knotted  up  behind,  and  their  waists  embraced  by 
stiff,  red  bodices.  Their  work  is  always  enlivened  by 
song,  —  and  when  their  clothes  are  all  washed,  the  basket 
is  lifted  to  the  head,  and  home  they  march,  stalwart  and 
majestic,  like  Roman  caryatides.  The  sharp  Italian  sun 
shining  on  their  dark  faces  and  vivid  costumes,  or  flashing 
into  the  fountain,  and  basking  on  the  gray,  weed-covered 
walls,  makes  a  picture  which  is  often  enchanting  in  its 
color.  At  the  Emissary  near  Albano,  where  the  waters 
from  the  lake  are  emptied  into  a  huge  cistern  through  the 
old  conduit  built  by  the  ancient  Romans  to  sink  the  level 
of  the  lake,  I  have  watched  by  the  hour  these  strange  pic- 
torial groups,  as  they  sang  and  thrashed  the  clothes  they 
were  engaged  in  washing  ;  while  over  them,  in  the  fore- 
ground, the  tall  gray  tower  and  granary,  once  a  castle, 
lifted  itself  in  strong  light  and  shade  against  the  peerless 
blue  sky,  and  rolling  hills  beyond,  covered  with  the  pale- 
green  foliage  of  rounded  olives,  formed  the  characteristic 
background.  Sometimes  a  peasant,  mounted  on  the  crup- 
per of  his  donkey,  would  pause  in  the  sun  to  chat  awhile 
with  the  women.  The  children,  meanwhile,  sprawled  and 
played  upon  the  grass,  and  the  song  and  chat  at  the  foun- 
tain would  not  unfrequently  be  interrupted  by  a  shrill 
scream  from  one  of  the  mothers,  to  stop  a  quarrel,  or  to 
silence  a  cry  which  showed  the  stoutness  of  their  little 
lungs. 

The  cobblers  of  Rome  are  also  a  gay  and  singing  set. 
They  do  not  imprison  themselves  in  a  dark  cage  of  a  shop, 
but  sit  "  sub  Jove"  where  they  may  enjoy  the  life  of  the 
street  and  all  the  "  skyey  influences."  Their  benches  are 


36  RODA  DI  ROMA. 

generally  placed  near  the  portone  of  some  palace,  so  that 
they  may  draw  them  under  shelter  when  it  rains.  Here 
all  day  they  sit  and  draw  their  wax-ends  and  sing,  —  a 
row  of  hattered-looking  boots  and  shoes  ranged  along  on 
the  ground  beside  them,  and  waiting  for  their  turn,  being 
their  only  stock  in  trade.  They  commonly  have  enough 
to  do,  and  as  they  pay  nothing  for  shop-rent,  every  baiocco 
they  get  is  nearly  clear  profit.  They  are  generally  as 
poor  as  Job's  cat ;  but  they  are  far  happier  than  the  pro- 
prietor of  that  interesting  animal.  Figaro  is  a  high  ideal 
of  this  class,  and  about  as  much  like  them  as  Ratfaello's 
angels  are  like  Jeames  Yellowplush.  What  the  cobblers 
and  Figaro  have  in  common  is  song  and  a  love  of  scandal. 
One  admirable  specimen  of  this  class  sits1  at  the  corner  of 
the  Via  Felice  and  Capo  le  Case,  with  his  bench  backed 
against  the  gray  wall.  He  is  an  oldish  man.  with  a  long 
gray  beard  and  a  quizzical  face,  —  a  sort  of  Hans  Sachs, 
who  turns  all  his  life  into  verse  and  song.  When  he 
comes  out  in  the  morning,  he  chants  a  domestic  idyl,  in 
which  he  narrates  in  verse  the  events  of  his  household, 
and  the  differences  and  agreements  of  himself  and  his 
wife,  whom  I  take  to  be  a  pure  invention.  This  over,  he 
changes  into  song  everything  and  every  person  that  passes 
before  him.  Nothing  that  is  odd,  fantastic,  or  absurd 
escapes  him,  or  fails  to  be  chronicled  and  sarcastically 
commented  on  in  his  verse.  So  he  sits  all  day  long,  his 
mind  like  a  kaleidoscope,  changing  all  the  odd  bits  of 
character  which  chance  may  show  him  into  rhythmic 
forms,  and  chirps  and  sings  as  perpetually  as  the  cricket. 
Friends  he  has  without  number,  who  stop  before  his  bench 
—  from  which  he  administers  poetical  justice  to  all  per- 
sons —  to  have  a  long  chat,  or  sometimes  to  bring  him  a 
friendly  token  ;  and  from  the  dark  interior  of  his  drawer 
he  often  brings  forth  an  orange,  a  bunch  of  grapes,  or  a 
handful  of  chestnuts,  supplied  by  them,  as  a  dessert  after 
the  thick  cabbage-soup  which  he  eats  at  mid-day. 

In  the  busiest  street  of  Rome,  the  pure  Campagna  song 
may  often  be  heard  from  the  throat  of  some  peasant,  as  he 
slowly  rumbles  along  in  his  loaded  wine-cart,  the  little  dog 
1  Once  sat.     Alas  !  he  sits  no  longer  there. 


STREET  MUSIC  — PEASANTS.  37 

at  his  side  barking  a  sympathetic  chorus.  This  song  is 
rude  enough,  and  seems  in  measure  founded  upon  the 
Church  chant.  It  is  in  the  minor  key,  and  consists  ordi- 
narily of  two  phrases,  ending  in  a  screaming  monotone, 
prolonged  until  the  breath  of  the  singer  fails,  and  often 
running  down  at  the  close  into  a  blurred  chromatic.  No 
sooner  is  one  strain  ended  than  it  is  suddenly  taken  up 
again  in  prestissimo  time  and  "  slowed  "  down  to  the  same 
dismal  conclusion.  Heard  near,  it  is  deafening  and  dis- 
agreeable. But  when  refined  by  distance,  it  has  a  sad  and 
pleasing  effect,  and  seems  to  belong  to  the  place, — the 
long  wail  at  the  close  being  the  very  type  of  the  melan- 
choly stretches  of  the  Campagna.  In  the  same  way  I  have 
frequently  thought  that  the  Jodeln  of  the  Swiss  was  an 
imitation  of  the  echo  of  the  mountains,  each  note  repeated 
first  in  octavo,  or  fifth,  and  then  in  its  third  below.  The 
Campagna  song  is  to  be  heard  not  only  in  the  Campagna, 
but  everywhere  in  the  country,  —  in  the  vineyards,  in 
the  grain-fields,  in  mountain  and  valley,  from  companies 
working  together,  and  from  solitary  contadini,  —  wherever 
the  influence  and  sentiment  of  the  Roman  Campagna  are 
felt.  The  moment  we  get  into  Tuscany,  on  the  one  side, 
or  over  into  Naples,  on  the  other,  it  begins  to  be  lost.  It 
was  only  the  other  day,  at  nightfall,  that  I  was  sauntering 
out  on  the  desolate  Campagna  towards  Civita  Vecchia. 
The  shadows  were  deepening,  and  the  mists  beginning  to 
creep  whitely  along  the  deep  hollows.  Everything  was 
dreary  and  melancholy  enough.  As  I  paused  to  listen  to 
the  solitude,  I  heard  the  grind  of  a  distant  invisible  cart, 
and  the  sound  of  a  distant  voice  singing.  Slowly  the  cart 
came  up  over  the  crest  of  the  hill,  a  dark  spot  against  the 
twilight  sky,  and  mounted  on  the  top  of  a  load  of  brush- 
wood sat  a  contadino,  who  was  singing  to  himself  these 
words,  —  not  very  consolatory,  perhaps,  but  so  completely 
in  harmony  with  the  scene  and  the  time  that  they  struck 
me  forcibly :  — 

"  E,  bella,  tu  non  piangera-a-a-i, 
Sul  giorno  ch'  io  sar6  mor-or-or-to-o-o-o-o-o."  1 

1  "  And,  dearest,  you  will  never  weep  for  me-e-e-e, 
The  day  when  I  shall  be  no  mo-o-o-ore." 


38  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

Not  only  at  night  and  to  celebrate  their  love  do  the 
Italian  peasants  sing,  —  they  sing  at  their  work  and  at 
their  play.  All  the  long  summer  days,  standing  in  the 
breast-high  corn,  or  beating  with  heavy  spade  the  soil,  or 
plucking  clusters  of  purple  grapes,  they  shriek  out  their 
ballads  and  songs  in  stentorian  tones  that  may  be  heard 
for  a  mile.  During  the  harvesting  seasons  they  gather 
together  at  night,  and  lying  under  the  light  of  the  moon 
upon  their  threshing-floors,  sing  in  chorus  their  simple 
melodies.  And  in  the  long  winter  evenings,  sitting  round 
the  smouldering  embers  of  their  fires,  they  "rouse  the 
night-owls  "  at  their  veglie,  or  beat  time  to  their  constantly 
interrupted  song  with  the  clattering  of  their  looms.  The 
city  also  sings  as  well  as  the  country.  The  carpenter  as 
he  drives  his  plane  ;  the  blacksmith  as  he  wields  his  ham- 
mer and  strikes  from  the  sputtering  iron  its  fiery  constel- 
lations ;  the  cobbler  as  he  pounds  the  soles  of  old  shoes  ; 
the  mason  as  he  lays  his  bricks ;  the  rougher-out  as  the 
chips  of  ringing  marble  fly  under  the  steel  point  of  his 
chisel ;  the  maid-of-all-work  as  she  draws  water  in  the 
court-yard,  —  all  solace  themselves  with  song.  As  the 
crowd  stream  back  from  the  theatre,  towards  midnight, 
you  hear  them  shouting  the  airs  of  the  opera  they  have  just 
been  listening  to  ;  and  oftentimes,  on  festal  nights,  in  the 
*'  sma'  hours  ayont  the  twal,"  the  prolonged  screaming 
song  of  the  peasants  rouses  you  from  your  first  slumbers 
as  it  sounds  through  the  echoing  streets.  Since  the  revo- 
lution in  1848,  Rome  has  been  stricken  with  a  morose 
silence ;  —  but  in  the  brilliant  days  when  Pius  IX.  first 
came  to  the  Papal  chair  the  city  rang  with  glad,  patriotic 
songs  ;  and  every  evening  bands  of  young  men  met  in  the 
Piazza  or  wandered  through  the  Corso  singing  in  chorus. 
The  moment  the  Italians  are  contented  they  sing,  and 
there  is  no  clearer  proof  of  their  present  discontent  than 
the  comparative  silence  of  the  streets  in  these  latter 
days. 

Whether  this  constant  habit  of  song  among  the  Southern 
people,  while  at  their  work,  indicates  happiness  and  con- 
tent, I  will  not  undertake  to  say ;  but  it  is  pleasanter  in 
effect  than  the  sad  silence  in  which  we  Anglo-Saxons  per- 


STREET  MUSIC— HABIT  OF  SONG.  39 

form  our  tasks,  —  and  it  seems  to  show  a  less  harassed 
and  anxious  spirit.  But  I  feel  quite  sure  that  these  people 
are  more  easily  pleased,  contented  with  less,  less  morose, 
and  less  envious  of  the  ranks  above  them,  than  we  are. 
They  give  little  thought  to  the  differences  of  caste,  have 
little  ambition  to  make  fortunes  or  rise  out  of  their  con- 
dition, and  are  satisfied  with  the  commonest  fare,  if  they 
can  get  enough  of  it.  The  demon  of  dissatisfaction  never 
harries  them.  When  you  speak  to  them,  they  answer 
with  a  smile  which  is  nowhere  else  to  be  found.  The 
nation  is  old,  but  the  people  are  children  in  disposition. 
Their  character  is  like  their  climate,  generally  sunny,  — 
subject  to  violent  occasional  storms,  but  never  growling 
life  away  in  an  uncomfortable  drizzle  of  discontent.  They 
live  upon  Nature,  —  sympathize  with  it  and  love  it,  —  are 
susceptible  to  the  least  touch  of  beauty,  —  are  ardent,  if 
not  enduring  in  their  affections,  —  and,  unless  provoked 
and  irritated,  are  very  peaceful  arid  amiable.  The  flaw  in 
their  nature  is  jealousy ;  and  it  is  a  great  flaw.  Their 
want  of  truth  is  the  result  of  their  education.  We  who 
are  of  the  more  active  and  busy  nations  despise  them  for 
not  having  that  irritated  discontent  which  urges  us  forward 
to  change  our  condition  ;  and  we  think  our  ambition  better 
than  their  supineness.  But  there  is  good  in  both.  We  do 
more  —  they  enjoy  more  ;  we  make  violent  efforts  to  be 
happy,  —  invent,  create,  labor,  to  arrive  at  that  quiet  en- 
joyment which  they  own  without  struggle,  and  which  our 
anxious  strife  unfits  us  to  enjoy  when  the  means  for  it  are 
obtained.  The  general,  popular  idea,  that  an  Italian  is 
quarrelsome  and  ill-tempered,  and  that  the  best  are  only 
bandits  in  disguise,  is  quite  a  mistake  ;  and  when  studied 
as  they  exist  out  of  the  track  of  travel,  where  they  are 
often  debased  and  denaturalized,  they  will  be  found  to  be 
simple,  kind-hearted,  and  generous.1 

1  Since  Italy  became  a  nation  and  Liberty  has  come  in,  Song1 
has  gone  out.  The  pifferari  play  no  more  novene.  The  thump  of 
the  tamborello,  which  used  everywhere  to  be  heard  towards  night- 
fall, is  heard  no  longer  calling  men  and  maids  to  dance  in  streets, 
court-yards,  and  Piazze.  The  ballad  singers  and  the  wandering1 
musicians,  once  so  prominent  a  feature  in  Rome,  are  rare.  The 


40  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

CHAPTER  III. 

BEGGARS   IN  KOME. 

DIRECTLY  above  the  Piazza  di  Spagna,  and  opposite  to 
the  Via  de'  Condotti,  rise  the  double  towers  of  the  Tri- 
nita  de'  Monti.  The  ascent  to  them  is  over  one  hundred 
and  thirty-five  steps,  planned  with  considerable  skill,  so  as 
to  mask  the  steepness  of  the  Pincian,  and  forming  the 
chief  feature  of  the  Piazza.  Various  landings  and  divid- 
ing walls  break  up  their  monotony  ;  and  a  red  granite  obe- 
lisk, found  in  the  gardens  of  Sallust,  crowns  the  upper 
terrace  in  front  of  the  church.  All  day  long,  these  steps 
are  flooded  with  sunshine,  in  which,  stretched  at  length,  or 
gathered  in  picturesque  groups,  models  of  every  age  and 
both  sexes  bask  away  the  hours  when  they  are  free  from 
employment  in  the  studios.  Here,  in  a  rusty  old  coat,  and 
long  white  beard  and  hair,  is  the  Padre  Eterno,  so  called 
from  his  constantly  standing  as  model  for  the  First  Per- 
son of  the  Trinity  in  religious  pictures.  Here  is  the  fe- 
rocious bandit,  with  his  thick  black  beard  and  conical  hat, 
now  off  duty,  and  sitting  with  his  legs  wide  apart,  munch- 
ing in  alternate  bites  an  onion,  which  he  holds  in  one  hand, 
and  a  lump  of  bread,  which  he  holds  in  the  other.  Here 
is  the  contadina,  who  spends  her  studio  life  in  praying  at 
a  shrine  with  upcast  eyes,  or  lifting  to  the  Virgin  her  lit- 
tle sick  child,  —  or  carrying  a  perpetual  copper  vase  to  the 
fountain,  —  or  receiving  imaginary  bouquets  at  a  Barme- 
cide Carnival.  Here  is  the  invariable  pilgrim,  with  his 
scallop-shell,  who  has  been  journeying  to  St.  Peter's  and 

organ-grinders  are  prohibited  within  the  street  limits  of  the  city,  and 
are  even  scripturally  "Jew."  The  old  carelessness  and  gayety  have 
disappeared,  —  for  Liberty  means  taxation  and  dear  living,  and  if 
it  be  a  grand  thing  to  have,  and  a  sounding  name  to  brag  about,  it 
is  none  the  less  a  costly  luxury,  and  weighs  upon  the  light-hearted- 
ness  of  the  people.  As  they  have  got  freer  they  have  got  sadder, 
and  more  anxious.  The  government's  hand  is  in  every  one's  pocket. 
But  pazienza  is  still  their  motto,  and  they  certainly  bear  with  ex- 
traordinary equanimity  the  burdens  that  are  laid  upon  them. 


BEGGARS  — BEPPO.  41 

reposing  by  the  way  near  aqueducts  or  broken  columns  so 
long  that  the  memory  of  man  runneth  not  to  the  contrary, 
and  who  is  now  fast  asleep  on  his  back,  with  his  hat  pulled 
over  his  eyes.  When  strangers  come  along,  the  little  ones 
run  up  and  thrust  out  their  hands  for  baiocchi  ;  and  so 
pretty  are  they  with  their  large,  black,  lustrous  eyes,  and 
their  quaint,  gay  dresses,  that  a  new-comer  always  finds 
something  in  his  pocket  for  them.  Sometimes  a  group  of 
artists,  passing  by,  will  pause  and  steadily  examine  one  of 
these  models,  turn  him  about,  pose  him,  point  out  his  de- 
fects and  excellences,  give  him  a  baiocco,  and  pass  on.  It 
is,  in  fact,  a  models'  exchange. 

All  this  is  on  the  lower  steps,  close  to  the  Piazza  di 
Spagna  ;  but  as  one  ascends  to  the  last  platform,  before 
reaching  the  upper  piazza  in  front  of  the  Trinita  de' 
Monti,  a  curious  squat  figure,  with  two  withered  and 
crumpled  legs,  spread  out  at  right  angles  and  clothed  in 
long  blue  stockings,  comes  shuffling  along  on  his  knees 
and  hands,  which  are  protected  by  clogs.  As  it  ap- 
proaches, it  turns  suddenly  up  from  its  quadrupedal  posi- 
tion, takes  off  its  hat,  shows  a  brjad,  stout,  legless  torso, 
with  a  vigorous  chest  and  a  ruddy  face,  as  of  a  person 
who  has  come  half-way  up  from  below  the  steps  through  a 
trap-door,  and  with  a  smile  whose  breadth  is  equalled  only 
by  the  cunning  which  lurks  round  the  corners  of  the  eyes, 
says,  in  the  blandest  and  most  patronizing  tones,  with  a 
rising  inflection,  "  Buon  giorno,  Signore  !  Oggi  fa  bel 
tempo,"  or  "fa  cattivo  tempo,"  as  the  case  may  be.  This 
is  no  less  a  person  than  Beppo,  King  of  the  Beggars,  and 
Baron  of  the  Scale  di  Spagna.  He  is  better  known  to 
travellers  than  the  Belvedere  Torso  of  Hercules  at  the 
Vatican,  and  has  all  the  advantage  over  that  wonderful 
work,  of  having  an  admirable  head  and  a  good  digestion. 
Hans  Christian  Andersen  has  celebrated  him  in  "  The  Im- 
provisatore,"  and  unfairly  attributed  to  him  an  infamous 
character  and  life  ;  but  this  account  is  purely  fictitious,  and 
is  neither  vero  nor  ben  trovato.  Beppo,  like  other  distin- 
guished personages,  is  not  without  a  history.  The  Ro- 
mans say  of  him,  '•'•Era  un  Signore  in  paese  suo"  — 
"  He  was  a  gentleman  in  his  own  country,"  —  and  this 


42  ROB  A  DI  ROMA. 

belief  is  borne  out  by  a  certain  courtesy  and  style  in  his 
bearing  which  would  not  shame  the  first  gentleman  in  the 
land.  He  was  undoubtedly  of  a  good  family  in  the  prov- 
inces, and  came  to  Rome,  while  yet  young,  to  seek  his 
fortune.  His  crippled  condition  cut  him  off  from  any  ac- 
tive employment,  and  he  adopted  the  profession  of  a  men- 
dicant, as  being  the  most  lucrative  and  requiring  the  least 
exertion.  Remembering  Belisarius,  he  probably  thought 
it  not  beneath  his  own  dignity  to  ask  for  an  obolus. 
Should  he  be  above  doing  what  a  great  general  had  done  ? 
However  this  may  be,  he  certainly  became  a  mendicant, 
after  changing  his  name,  —  and,  steadily  pursuing  this 
profession  for  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century,  by  dint 
of  his  fair  words,  his  bland  smiles,  and  his  constant  "  Fa 
buon  tempo,"  and  "Fa  cattivo  tempo"  which,  together 
with  his  withered  legs,  were  his  sole  stock  in  starting,  he 
has  finally  amassed  a  very  respectable  little  fortune.  He 
is  now  about  fifty-five  years  of  age,  has  a  wife  and  sev- 
eral children,  and  a  few  years  ago,  on  the  marriage  of  a 
daughter  to  a  very  respectable  tradesman,  he  was  able  to 
give  her  what  was  considered  in  Rome  a  very  respectable 
dowry.  The  other  day,  a  friend  of  mine  met  a  trades- 
man of  his  acquaintance  running  up  the  Spanish  steps. 

"  Where  are  you  going  in  such  haste  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  To  my  banker." 

"  To  your  banker  ?  But  what  banker  is  there  above  the 
steps?"' 

"  Only  Beppo,"  was  the  grave  answer.  "  I  want  sixty 
scudi,  and  he  can  lend  them  to  me  without  difficulty." 

"Really?" 

"  Of  course.  Come  vi  pare  ?  "  said  the  other,  as  he 
went  on  to  his  banker. 

Beppo  hires  his  bank  —  which  is  the  upper  platform  of 
the  steps  —  of  the  government,  at  a  small  rent  per  annum  ; 
and  woe  to  any  poor  devil  of  his  profession  who  dares  to 
invade  his  premises!  Hither,  every  fair  day,  at  about 
noon,  he  comes  mounted  on  his  donkey  and  accompanied 
by  his  valet,  a  little  boy,  who,  though  not  lame  exactly, 
wears  a  couple  of  crutches  as  a  sort  of  livery,  —  and  as 
soon  as  twilight  begins  to  thicken  and  the  sun  is  gone,  he 


BEGGARS  —  BEPPO.  43 

closes  his  bank  (it  is  purely  a  bank  of  deposit),  crawls  up 
the  steps,  mounts  a  stone  post,  and  there  majestically  waits 
for  his  valet  to  bring  the  donkey.  But  he  no  more  so- 
licits deposits.  His  day  is  done  ;  his  bank  is  closed  ;  and 
from  his  post  he  looks  around,  with  a  patronizing  superi- 
ority, upon  the  poorer  members  of  his  profession,  who  are 
soliciting,  with  small  success,  the  various  passers-by,  as  a 
king  smiles  down  upon  his  subjects.  The  donkey  being 
brought,  he  shuffles  on  to  its  crupper  and  makes  a  joyous 
and  triumphant  passage  down  through  the  streets  of  the 
city  to  his  home.  The  bland  business  smile  is  gone.  The 
wheedling  subserviency  of  the  day  is  over.  The  cunning 
eye  opens  largely.  He  is  calm,  dignified,  and  self-pos- 
sessed. He  mentions  no  more  the  state  of  the  weather. 
"  What 's  Hecuba  to  him,"  at  this  free  moment  of  his  re- 
turn ?  It  is  the  large  style  in  which  all  this  is  done  that 
convinces  me  that  Beppo  was  a  "  Signor  in  paese  suo." 
He  has  a  bank,  and  so  had  Prince  Torlonia  and  Sir  Fran- 
cis Baring.  But  what  of  that  ?  He  is  a  gentleman  still. 
The  robber  knights  and  barons  demanded  toll  of  those 
who  passed  their  castles,  with  violence  and  threats,  and  at 
the  bloody  point  of  their  swords.  Whoso  passes  Beppo's 
castle  is  prayed  in  courtesy  to  leave  a  remembrance,  and 
receives  the  blandest  bow  and  thanks  in  return.  Shall  we, 
then,  say,  the  former  are  nobles  and  gentlemen,  —  the 
other  is  a  miserable  beggar  ?  Is  it  worse  to  ask  than  to 
seize  ?  Is  it  meaner  to  thank  than  to  threaten  ?  If  he 
who  is  supported  by  the  public  is  a  beggar,  our  kings  are 
beggars,  our  pensions  are  charity.  Did  not  the  Princess 
Royal  hold  out  her  hand,  the  other  day,  to  the  House  of 
Commons  ?  and  does  any  one  think  the  worse  of  her  for 
it  ?  We  are  all,  in  measure,  beggars  ;  but  Beppo,  in  the 
large  style  of  kings  and  robber-barons,  asks  for  his  baiocco, 
and,  like  the  merchant-princes,  keeps  his  basik.  I  see 
dukes  and  noble  guards  in  shining  helmets,  spurs,  and  gi- 
gantic boots,  ride  daily  through  the  streets  on  horseback, 
and  hurry  to  their  palaces ;  but  Beppo,  erectly  mounted 
on  his  donkey,  in  his  short  jacket  (for  he  disdains  the  tai- 
lored skirts  of  a  fashionable  coat,  though  at  times  over  his 
broad  shoulders  a  great  blue  cloak  is  grandly  thrown,  after 


44  ROBA   DI  ROMA. 

the  manner  of  the  ancient  emperors),  is  far  more  impres- 
sive, far  more  princely,  as  he  slowly  and  majestic-ally 
moves  at  nightfall  towards  his  august  abode.  The  shad- 
ows close  around  him  as  he  passes  along ;  salutations  greet 
him  from  the  damp  shops ;  and  darkness  at  last  swallows 
up  for  a  time  the  great  square  torso  of  the  "  King  of  the 
Beggars." 

Such  is  Beppo  as  he  appears  on  the  public  'change.  His 
private  life  is  involved  somewhat  in  obscurity ;  but 
glimpses  have  been  had  of  him  which  indicate  a  grand 
spirit  of  hospitality,  and  condescension  not  unworthy  of  the 
best  days  of  his  ancestors,  the  Barons  of  the  Middle  Ages. 
Innominate,  a  short  time  since,  was  passing  late  at  night 
along  the  district  of  the  Monti,  when  his  attention  was  at- 
tracted by  an  unusual  noise  and  merry-making  in  one  of 
its  mean  little  osterie  or  bettole.  The  door  was  ajar,  and 
peeping  in  he  beheld  a  gallant  company  of  roisterers  of 
the  same  profession  as  Beppo,  with  porters,  and  gentlemen 
celebrated  for  lifting  in  other  ways.  They  were  gathered 
round  a  table,  drinking  merrily,  and  mounted  in  the  cen- 
tre of  it,  with  his  withered  legs  crooked  under  him,  sat 
Baron  Beppo,  the  high-priest  of  the  festive  rites.  It  was 
his  banquet,  and  he  had  been  strictly  scriptural  in  his  in- 
vitations to  all  classes  from  the  street.  He  was  the  Am- 
phitryon who  defrayed  the  cost  of  the  wine,  and  acknowl- 
edged with  a  smile  and  a  cheerful  word  the  toasts  of  his 
guests ;  and  when  Innominato  saw  him  he  was  as  "  glo- 
rious "  as  Tarn  o'  Shanter.  He  was  not  under  the  table, 
simply  because  he  was  on  it ;  and  he  had  not  lost  his  equi- 
librium, solely  because  he  rested  upon  so  broad  a  base. 
Planted  like  an  oak,  his  legs  figuring  the  roots,  there  he 
sat,  while  the  jolly  band  of  beggars  and  rascals  were 
"  rousing  the  night-owl  with  a  catch,"  and  the  blood  of  the 
vine  was  freely  flowing  in  their  cups.  The  conversation 
was  very  idiomatic  and  gay,  if  not  aristocratic,  and  Bep- 
po's  tongue  wagged  with  the  best.  It  was  a  most  cheer- 
ing  spectacle.  The  old  Barons  used  to  sit  above  the  salt, 
but  Baron  Beppo  sat  higher  yet  —  or,  rather,  he  reminded 
one  of  classic  days,  as,  mounted  there  like  a  Bacchic 
Torso,  he  presided  over  the  noisy  rout  of  Silenus. 


BEGGARS—  BEPPO  IN  DISGRACE.  45 

Beppo  has,  however,  fallen  lately  into  disgrace.  His 
breakfast  had  perhaps  disagreed  with  him,  perhaps  he  had 
"roused  the  night-owl"  too  late  on  the  previous  night, 
and  perhaps  his  nerves  were  irritated  by  a  bad  scirocco  ; 
but  certain  it  is,  that  one  unfortunate  morning  an  English 
lady,  to  whom  he  applied  for  qualche  cosa,  made  some 
jocosely-intended  answer  to  the  effect  that  he  was  as  rich 
as  she,  and  alluded,  it  is  said,  to  the  dowry  he  had  given 
his  daughter  —  whereupon  it  became  suddenly  "  cattivo 
giorno"  with  Beppo,  and  he  suffered  himself  to  threaten 
her,  and  even,  as  some  accounts  go,  to  throw  stones ;  and 
the  lady  having  reported  him  to  the  authorities,  Beppo 
went  into  forced  retirement  for  a  time.  I  was  made  aware 
of  this  one  day  by  finding  his  bank  occupied  by  a  new  figure 
and  face.  Astonished  at  the  audacity  of  this  interloper, 
I  stopped  and  said  —  "  And  Beppo,  where  is  he  ?  "  The 
jolly  beggar  then  informed  me,  in  a  very  high  and  rather 
exulting  voice  (I  am  sorry  to  say),  beginning  with  a  sharp 
and  prolonged  eh — e-e-e-h,  that  the  police  had  laid  violent 
hands  on  Beppo,  because  he  had  maltreated  an  English 
lady,  and  that  he  ought  to  have  known  better,  but  come 
si  fa  ;  and  that  for  the  present  he  was  at  San  Michele. 

Beppo  having  repented,  and  it  is  to  be  hoped  amended 
during  his  sojourn  in  that  holy  hospice,  has  now  again 
made  his  appearance  in  the  world.  But  during  his  absence 
the  government  has  passed  a  new  and  salutary  law,  by 
which  beggars  are  forbidden  publicly  to  practise  their  pro- 
fession, except  upon  the  steps  of  the  churches.  There 
they  may  sit  and  extend  their  hand,  and  ask  charity  from 
those  who  are  going  to  their  prayers,  but  they  may  no 
longer  annoy  the  public,  and  specially  strangers  in  the 
street.  Beppo,*therefore,  keeps  no  more  his  bank  on  the 
steps  of  the  Piazza  di  Spagna,  but  has  removed  it  to  those 
of  the  church  of  St.  Agostino,  where,  at  least  for  the  pres- 
ent, he  is  open  to  the  "  receipt  of  custom." 

The  words  of  the  previous  sentence  ai'e  now,  alas,  no 
longer  true.  Since  they  were  written  and  printed  last, 
Beppo  has  passed  away  from  among  the  living  to  join  the 
great  company,  among  which  Lazarus  is  not  the  least. 
Vainly  the  eye  of  the  stranger  will  seek  him  on  the  steps 


4G  .       ROBA  Dl  ROMA. 

of  the  Piazza  di  Spagna,  or  on  those  of  St.  Agostino.  The 
familiar  figure  has  gone.  The  places  which  have  known 
him  will  know  him  no  more  ;  and  of  the  large  and  noble 
company  of  mendicants  in  Rome,  there  is  not  one  left 
who  could  fitly  wear  the  mantle  that  has  fallen  from  his 
shoulders. 

Lest  the  stranger  should  imagine  that  there  are  no  more 
beggars  to  be  met  in  Rome,  let  me  hasten  to  assure  him, 
that  though  they  have  "  fallen,  fallen,  fallen,  from  their 
high  estate "  in  the  Eternal  City,  they  still  keep  high 
carnival  in  the  country  towns.  I  must  also  add  that  the 
government  is  kindly  blind  of  one  eye,  even  within  the 
walls  of  the  city  itself,  and  that  the  law  is  to  a  large  extent 
"  more  honor'd  in  the  breach  than  the  observance."  At 
frequent  intervals  you  will  still  see  persons  to  whom  excep- 
tional privileges  are  granted  on  account  of  their  personal 
merit,  their  just  claims  to  charity,  their  age,  or  their  mis- 
fortune. Those  you  may  know  by  a  great  brass  decora- 
tion, which  they  wear  with  as  proud  an  assurance  as  a 
French  general ;  and  it  has  this  advantage  over  the  ribbon 
of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  that  it  is  not  so  common.  To 
all  who  wear  it  (and,  be  it  also  whispered,  to  many  who 
do  not  wear  it),  give  freely  of  your  charity,  —  it  will  not 
be  ill  bestowed. 

It  is  often  a  trying  question  whether  or  not  to  give  to 
beggars.  Speaking  from  a  merely  selfish  point  of  view,  I 
think  it  better  to  give ;  for  refusing  a  charity  steels  the 
heart,  while  giving  tickles  the  sentiments,  and  you  thus 
get  a  little  spiritual  relish,  which,  if  it  be  a  little  Pharisaic 
of  flavor,  is,  nevertheless,  agreeable.  What  if  the  rogue 
do  not  stand  in  need  of  the  charity,  you  have  conferred  a 
satisfaction  on  yourself  at  a  very  small  outlay,  and  for  a 
few  minutes,  at  least,  you  walk  with  a  prouder  step.  You 
have,  at  all  events,  nothing  to  lay  to  the  score  of  con: 
science.  Suppose,  on  the  contrary,  you  refuse  the  little 
gift  out  of  your  superfluity,  you  have  thereby  laid  for 
yourself  a  snare  of  remorse.  You  have  dared,  without 
knowledge  or  investigation  of  the  real  facts,  to  judge 
them,  and  declare  the  beggar  a  culprit.  You  cannot  bp 


BEGGARS  — DEFORMITY  A  PRIVILEGE.       47 

sure  that  you  have  acted  wisely  or  justly.  You  may  have 
refused  the  cup  of  water,  which  is  blessed.  The  beggar's 
piteous  look  and  voice  and  outstretched  hand  will  haunt 
you  longer  than  you  like,  and  a  little  annoying  doubt  will 
keep  buzzing  about  in  your  mind,  and  hatch  a  brood  of 
regrets.  You  will  keep  hoping  that  the  beggar  was  not 
nearly  so  wretched  as  he  looked ;  or,  perhaps,  you  are 
made  of  sterner  stuff,  and  will  console  yourself  with  the 
proud  thought  that  by  refusing  a  small  private  claim,  you 
have  done  a  great  public  good ;  or  that  it  is  better  to 
sacrifice  one  poor  man  than  to  undermine  the  general  in- 
terests of  society  ;  or,  professing  a  sound  indignation  for 
mendicancy,  you  will  applaud  yourself  for  thus  obeying 
the  dictates  of  duty  instead  of  weakly  yielding  to  a  senti- 
mental feeling  of  compassion.  But  if  you  find  any  suffi- 
cient consolation  out  of  these  husks,  you  are  more  fortunate 
than  I  have  ever  been.  How  many  times  have  I  had  the 
weakness  to  go  back  arid  meekly  offer  the  previously  denied 
penny.  It  is  nothing,  I  argued,  to  me  ;  it  may  be  so  much 
to  him.  I  do  not  say  it  is  ;  but  that  "may  be  "  cannot  be 
silenced.  General  principles  are  very  grand  things  in 
books,  and  capital  themes  for  speeches ;  but  there  are  so 
many  exceptions  to  them  in  life,  and  who  shall  say  that 
the  individual  case  is  not  an  exception  ? 

You  may,  indeed,  hide  poverty  out  of  sight ;  you  may 
threaten  with  imprisonment  the  poor  starving  wretch  that 
holds  out  his  hand  for  the  overplus  of  your  abundance ; 
you  may  make  all  proper  and  white  on  the  outside  of 
society,  by  laws  for  the  suppression  of  mendicancy ;  but 
after  all,  this  will  not  cure  the  pain  and  suffering  that 
gnaws  its  vitals,  nor  satisfy  the  absolute  needs  of  the  poor. 
If  mendicancy  be  abolished,  then  it  is  the  duty  of  society 
to  see  that  there  are  none  to  whom  this  is  the  only  means 
to  escape  starvation.  It  is  undoubtedly  unpleasant  to  be 
annoyed  by  a  beggar  in  the  street,  but  it  is  still  more  un- 
pleasant to  famish  with  hunger. 

Begging,  in  Rome,  is  as  much  a  profession  as  praying 
and  shopkeeping.  Happy  is  he  who  is  born  deformed, 
with  a  withered  limb,  or  to  whom  Fortune  sends  the  pres- 
ent of  a  hideous  accident  or  malady ;  it  is  a  stock  to  set 


48  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

up  trade  upon.  St.  Vitus's  dance  is  worth  its  hundreds 
of  scudi  annually  ;  epileptic  fits  are  also  a  prize  ;  and  a 
distorted  leg  and  hare-lip  have  a  considerable  market- 
value.  Thenceforth  the  creature  who  has  the  luck  to  have 
them  is  absolved  from  labor.  He  stands  or  lies  in  the 
sun,  or  wanders  through  the  Piazza,  and  sings  his  whining, 
lamentable  strophe  of,  "  Signore,  povero  stroppiato,  datemi 
qualche  cosa  per  amor  di  Dio  !  "  —  and  when  the  baiocco 
falls  into  his  hat,  like  ripe  fruit  from  the  tree  of  the 
stranger,  he  chants  the  antistrophe,  "  Dio  la  benedica,  la 
Madonna  e  tutti  i  santi  !  " 1  No  refusal  but  one  does  he 
recognize  as  final,  —  and  that  is  given,  not  by  word  of 
mouth,  but  by  elevating  the  forefinger  of  the  right  hand, 
and  slowly  wagging  it  to  and  fro.  When  this  finger  goes 
up  he  resigns  all  hope,  as  those  who  pass  the  gate  of  the 
Inferno,  replaces  his  hat  and  lapses  into  silence,  or  turns 
away  to  some  new  group  of  sunny-haired  foreigners.  The 
recipe  to  avoid  beggars  is,  to  be  black-haired,  to  wear  a 
full  beard,  to  smoke  in  the  streets,  speak  only  Italian,  and 
shake  the  forefinger  of  the  right  hand  when  besieged  for 
charity.  Let  it  not  be  supposed  from  this  that  the  Romans 
give  nothing  to  the  beggars,  but  pass  them  by  on  the  other 
side.  This  is  quite  a  mistake.  On  the  contrary,  they 
give  more  than  the  foreigners ;  and  the  poorest  class,  out 
of  their  little,  will  always  find  something  to  drop  into 
their  hats  for  charity.  Another  recipe  suggested  to  me  by 
a  friend  years  ago,  and  which  I  have  known  to  prove 
effective  in  some  cases,  is  solemnly  to  turn  to  the  beggar, 
and  slowly  say  ip-e-ca-cu-a-na.  But  this  medicine  should 
be  administered  rarely,  or  it  will  lose  its  effect ;  and  great 
care  should  be  taken  to  preserve  absolute  gravity  both  of 
tone  and  demeanor. 

The  ingenuity  which  the  beggars  sometimes  display  in 
asking  for  alms  is  often  humoristic  and  satirical.  Many 
a  woman  on  the  cold  side  of  thirty  is  wheedled  out  of  a 
baiocco  by  being  addressed  as  Signorina.  Many  a  half- 
suppressed  exclamation  of  admiration,  or  a  prefix  of  Bella, 
softens  the  hearts  of  those  to  whom  compliments  on  their 

Signore,  a  poor  cripple ;  give  me  something,  for  the  love  of 
God !  "  —  "  May  God  bless  you,  the  Madonna,  and  all  the  saints  !  " 


BEGGARS— THEIR  PROSPERITY.  49 

beauty  come  rarely.  A  great  many  baiocchi  are  also 
caught  from  green  travellers  of  the  middle  class,  by  the 
titles  which  are  lavishly  squandered  by  these  poor  fellows. 
Illustrisslmo,  Eccellenza,  Altezza,  will  sometimes  open 
the  purse,  when  plain  "  Mosshoo  "  is  ineffectual.  After 
all,  it  is  worth  a  penny  even  to  a  Republican,  to  be  called 
Principe  or  Principessa. 

The  profession  of  a  beggar  is  by  no  means  an  unprofit- 
able one.  A  great  many  drops  finally  make  a  stream. 
The  cost  of  living  is  almost  nothing  to  them,  and  they 
frequently  lay  up  money  enough  to  make  themselves  very 
comfortable  in  their  old  age.  A  Roman  friend  of  mine, 
Conte  C.,  speaking  of  them  one  day,  told  me  this  illustra- 
tive anecdote :  — 

"  I  had  occasion,"  he  said,  "a  few  years  ago,  to  reduce 
my  family  "  (the  servants  are  called,  in  Rome,  the  family), 
"  and  having  no  need  of  the  services  of  one  under-servant, 
named  Pietro,  I  dismissed  him.  About  a  year  after,  as  I 
was  returning  to  my  house,  towards  nightfall,  I  was  so- 
licited by  a  beggar,  who  whiningly  asked  me  for  charity. 
There  was  something  in  the  voice  which  struck  me  as  fa- 
miliar, and,  turning  round  to  examine  the  man  more 
closely,  I  found  it  was  my  old  servant,  Pietro.  '  Is  that 
you,  Pietro  ?  '  I  said  ;  '  you  —  begging  here  in  the  streets  ! 
What  has  brought  you  to  this  wretched  trade  ?  '  He  gave 
me,  however,  no  very  clear  account  of  himself,  and  evi- 
dently desired  to  avoid  me  when  he  recognized  who  I 
was.  But,  shocked  to  find  him  in  so  pitiable  a  condition, 
I  pressed  my  questions,  and  finally  told  him  I  could  not 
bear  to  see  any  one  who  had  been  in  my  household  re- 
duced to  beggary  ;  and  though  I  had  no  actual  need  of 
his  services,  yet,  rather  than  see  him  thus,  he  might  return 
to  his  old  position  as  servant  in  my  house,  and  be  paid  the 
same  wages  as  he  had  before.  He  hesitated,  was  much 
embarrassed,  and,  after  a  pause,  said  — '  A  thousand 
thanks,  your  Excellency,  for  your  kindness ;  but  I  cannot 
accept  your  proposal,  because  —  to  tell  you  the  truth  — 
I  make  more  money  by  this  trade  of  begging.'  " 

But  though  the  beggars  often  lay  by  considerable  sums 
of  money,  so  that  they  might,  if  they  chose,  live  with  a 


50  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

certain  degree  of  comfort,  yet  they  cannot  leave  off  the 
habit  of  begging  after  having  indulged  in  it  for  many 
years.  They  get  to  be  avaricious,  and  cannot  bring  their 
minds  to  spend  the  money  they  have.  The  other  day,  an 
old  beggar,  who  used  to  frequent  the  steps  of  the  Gesii, 
when  about  to  die,  ordered  the  hem  of  her  garment  to  be 
ripped  up,  saying  that  there  was  money  in  it.  In  fact, 
about  a  thousand  scudi  were  found  there,  three  hundred 
of  which  she  ordered  to  be  laid  out  upon  her  funeral,  and 
the  remainder  to  be  appropriated  to  masses  for  her  soul. 
This  was  accordingly  done,  and  her  squalid  life  ended  in 
a  pompous  procession  to  the  grave. 

The  great  holidays  of  the  beggars  are  the  country  festas. 
Thronging  out  of  the  city,  they  spread  along  the  highways, 
and  drag,  drive,  roll,  shuffle,  hobble,  as  they  can,  towards 
the  festive  little  town.  Everywhere  along  the  road  they 
are  to  be  met,  —  perched  on  a  rock,  seated  on  a  bank, 
squatted  beneath  a  wall  or  hedge,  and  screaming,  with 
outstretched  hand,  from  the  moment  a  carriage  comes  in 
sight  until  it  is  utterly  passed  by.  As  one  approaches  the 
town  where  the  festa  is  held,  they  grow  thicker  and 
thicker.  They  crop  up  along  the  road  like  toadstools. 
They  hold  up  every  hideous  kind  of  withered  arm,  dis- 
torted leg,  and  unsightly  stump.  They  glare  at  you  out 
of  horrible  eyes,  that  look  like  cranberries.  You  are 
requested  to  look  at  horrors,  all  without  a  name,  and  too 
terrible  to  be  seen.  All  their  accomplishments  are  also 
brought  out.  They  fall  into  improvised  fits ;  they  shake 
with  sudden  palsies  ;  and  all  the  while  keep  up  a  chorus, 
half-whine,  half -scream,  which  suffers  you  to  listen  to 
nothing  else.  It  is  hopeless  to  attempt  to  buy  them  all 
off,  for  they  are  legion  in  number,  and  to  pay  one  doubles 
the  chorus  of  the  others.  The  clever  scamps,  too,  show 
the  utmost  skill  in  selecting  their  places  of  attack.  Wher- 
ever there  is  a  sudden  rise  in  the  road,  or  any  obstacle 
which  will  reduce  the  gait  of  the  horses  to  a  walk,  there 
is  sure  to  be  a  beggar.  But  do  not  imagine  that  he  relies 
on  his  own  powers  of  scream  and  hideousness  alone,  — 
not  he  !  He  has  a  friend,  an  ambassador,  to  recommend 
him  to  your  notice,  and  to  expatiate  on  his  misfortunes. 


BEGGARS— THEIR  PERSISTENCE.  51 

Though  he  himself  can  scarcely  move,  his  friend,  who  is 
often  a  little  ragged  boy  or  girl,  light  of  weight,  and  made 
for  a  chase,  pursues  the  carriage  and  prolongs  the  whine, 
repeating,  with  a  mechanical  iteration,  "  Signore !  Sig- 
nore  !  datemi  qualche  cosa,  Signore ! "  until  the  phrase, 
after  gradually  degenerating  to  —  Gno  !  — gno  !  dami —  ca 
—  ca  —  gno  !  finally  ceases  —  and  the  fellow's  legs,  breath, 
and  resolution  give  out  at  last ;  or,  what  is  still  commoner, 
your  patience  is  wearied  out  or  your  sympathy  touched, 
and  you  are  glad  to  purchase  the  blessing  of  silence  for 
the  small  sum  of  a  balocco.  When  his  whining  fails,  he 
tries  to  amuse  you  ;  and  often  resorts  to  the  oddest  freaks 
to  attract  your  notice.  Sometimes  the  little  rascal  flings 
himself  heels  over  head  into  the  dust,  and  executes  somer- 
sets without  number,  as  if  they  had  some  hidden  influence 
on  the  sentiment  of  compassion.  Then,  running  by  the 
side  of  the  carriage,  he  will  play  upon  his  lips  with  both 
hands,  making  a  rattling  noise,  to  excite  your  curiosity. 
If  you  laugh,  you  are  lost,  and  he  knows  it.  But  if  you 
sternly  resist  all  his  entreaties,  it  sometimes  happens,  if 
you  have  given  him  a  hard  run,  that,  despite  his  broken 
wind  and  tired  legs,  he  will  send  after  you  a  peculiar  bless- 
ing in  the  shape  of  an  u  apoplexy,"  and  throw  a  stone  at 
your  carriage,  merely  for  luck,  of  course,  as  in  other  coun- 
tries a  shoe  is  thrown. 

As  you  reach  the  gates  of  the  town,  the  row  becomes 
furious.  There  are  scores  of  beggars  on  either  side  of  the 
road,  screaming  in  chorus.  No  matter  how  far  the  town 
be  from  the  city,  there  is  not  a  wretched,  maimed  cripple 
of  your  acquaintance,  not  one  of  the  old  stumps  who  have 
dodged  you  round  a  Roman  corner,  not  a  ragged  baron 
who  has  levied  toll  for  passage  through  the  public  squares, 
a  privileged  robber  who  has  shut  up  for  you  a  pleasant 
street  or  waylaid  you  at  an  interesting  church,  but  he  is 
sure  to  be  there.  How  they  got  there  is  as  inexplicable 
as  how  the  apples  got  into  the  dumplings  in  Peter  Pindar's 
poem.  But  at  the  first  ring  of  a  festa-l>e\\  they  start  up 
from  underground  (those  who  are  legless  getting  only  half 
way  up),  like  Rhoderick  Dhu's  men,  and  level  their 
cratches  at  you  as  the  others  did  their  arrows.  An  Eng- 


52  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

lish  lady,  a  short  time  since,  after  wintering  at  Rome, 
went  to  take  the  baths  of  Lucca  in  the  summer.  On  go- 
ing out  for  a  walk,  on  the  first  morning  after  her  arrival. 
whom  should  she  meet  but  King  Beppo,  whom  she  had 
just  left  in  Rome  !  He  had  come  with  the  rest  of  the 
nobility  for  recreation  and  bathing,  and  of  course  had 
brought  his  profession  with  him. 

Owing  to  a  variety  of  causes,  the  number  of  beggars  in 
Rome  is  large.  They  grow  here  as  noxious  weeds  in  a 
hot-bed.  The  government  neither  fosters  commerce  nor 
stimulates  industry.  The  poh'cy  of  the  Church  everywhere 
is  conservative,  and  this  is  specially  the  case  in  Rome, 
where  the  Church  is  the  State.  Founded  on  ancient  ideas 
and  dogmas,  consolidated  by  long  established  forms  and 
usages,  its  evident  duty  is  to  defend  them  and  conserve 
them.  It  naturally  opposes  itself  to  all  innovations.  It 
distrusts  and  dislikes  changes.  Its  aim  is  piety,  submis- 
sion, and  obedience  among  the  people,  rather  than  pros- 
perity in  business  and  increase  of  trade.  Its  primary 
duties  and  interests  are  ecclesiastical,  and  to  these  all 
other  duties  and  interests  are  secondary.  It  restricts  edu- 
cation and  subjects  literature  to  censorship  through  fear 
that  the  development  of  new  ideas  may  lead  to  revolution 
or  to  atheism.  This  policy  makes  itself  felt  everywhere 
in  Rome.  If  piety  be  developed  by  it,  life  and  thought 
languish,  trade  stagnates,  industry  decays,  and  the  people, 
ceasing  to  work  and  think,  have  grown  indolent  and  su- 
pine. Poverty  is  a  necessary  consequence.  The  splendid 
robes  of  ecclesiastical  Rome  have  a  draggled  fringe  of 
beggary.  But  free  and  constitutional  England  can  boast 
of  no  superiority  in  this  respect,  for  though  public  begging 
is  prohibited,  it  is  none  the  less  practised,  and  will  be  as 
long  as  poverty  exists  unprovided  for.  But  in  a  country 
where  mendicancy  forms  the  rule  of  some  of  the  con- 
ventual orders,  and  poverty  is  preached  as  a  formula  of 
religion  and  as  a  glory  of  the  saints,  neither  poverty  nor 
mendicancy  is  naturally  looked  upon  as  shameful  —  or  de- 
manding to  be  suppressed.  One  cannot,  however,  help 
speculating  on  the  change  which  mi^ht  be  effected  in 
Rome  if  the  energies  of  the  people  could  have  a  free  scope. 


BEGGARS  — WORK   OF  GALLEY  SLAVES.      53 

Industry  is  the  true  purification  of  a  nation  ;  and  as  the 
fertile  and  luxuriant  Campagna  stagnates  into  malaria,  be- 
cause of  its  want  of  ventilation  and  movement,  so  does  this 
grand  and  noble  people.  The  government  does  what  it 
can  to  remedy  the  evils  which  grow  naturally  out  of  its  sys- 
tem ;  but  things  go  in  a  vicious  circle.  The  people,  kept 
at  a  stand-still,  become  idle  and  poor  ;  idleness  and  poverty 
engender  vice  and  crime  ;  crime  fills  the  prisons  ;  and  the 
prisons  afford  a  body  of  cheap  slaves  to  the  government. 

To-day,  as  I  am  writing,  some  hundreds  of  galley-slaves, 
in  their  striped  brown  uniforms,  are  tugging  at  their 
winches  and  ropes  to  drag  the  column  of  the  Immaculate 
Virgin  to  its  pedestal  on  the  Piazza  di  Spagna.  By  the 
same  system  of  compulsory  labor,  the  government,  de- 
spite its  limited  financial  resources,  is  enabled  to  carry  out 
public  projects  which,  with  well-paid  workmen,  would  be 
too  expensive  to  be  feasible.  In  this  manner,  for  instance, 
for  an  incredibly  small  sum,  was  built  the  magnificent 
viaduct  which  spans  with  its  triple  tier  of  arches  the  beauti- 
ful Val  di  L'  Arriccia.  But,  for  my  own  part,  I  cannot 
look  upon  this  system  as  being  other  than  very  bad,  in 
every  respect.  And  when,  examining  into  the  prisons 
themselves,  I  find  that  the  support  of  these  poor  criminal 
slaves  is  farmed  out  by  the  government  to  some  respon- 
sible person  at  the  lowest  rate  that  is  offered,  generally  for 
some  ten  baiocchi  apiece  per  diem,  and  often  refarmed  by 
him  at  a  still  lower  rate,  until  the  poor  wretches  are  re- 
duced to  the  very  minimum  of  necessary  food  as  to  quan- 
tity and  quality,  I  confess  that  I  cannot  look  with  pleas- 
ure on  the  noble  viaduct  at  L'  Arriccia,  or  the  costly  col- 
umn to  the  Immaculate  Virgin,  erected  by  the  labor  of 
their  hands. 

The  government,  conscious  of  the  reproach  which  the 
great  number  of  beggars  in  Rome  seems  to  cast  upon 
Rome,  have  made  repeated  efforts  to  employ  them  bene- 
ficially. Hundreds  of  them  were  at  one  time  hired  to  ex- 
cavate in  the  Forum  and  the  Baths  of  Caracalla,  at  the  rate 
of  a  few  baiocchi  a  day.  But  never  was  such  a  wretched, 
decrepit,  broken-down  set  of  laborers  seen  gathered  to- 
gether. Falstaffs  ragged  regiment  was  a  powerful  and 


54  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

mighty  body  compared  with  them.  They  bore  the  same 
relation  to  an  able-bodied  workman  that  the  ruins  in 
which  they  excavated  bear  to  a  thoroughly  constructed 
house.  They  were  ruins  themselves,  working  among 
ruins ;  and  it  would  be  difficult  to  say  whether  the  spec- 
tacle were  most  sad  —  or  most  ludicrous.  Each  had  a 
wheelbarrow,  a  spade,  or  pick,  and  a  cloak ;  but  the  last 
was  the  most  important  part  of  their  equipment.  Some  of 
them  picked  at  the  earth  with  a  gravity  that  was  equalled 
only  by  the  feebleness  of  the  effort  and  the  poverty  of  the 
result.  Three  strokes  so  wearied  them  that  they  were 
forced  to  pause  and  gather  strength,  while  others  carried 
away  the  ant-hills  which  the  first  dug  up.  It  seemed  an  end- 
less task  to  fill  the  wheelbarrows.  Fill,  did  I  say  ?  They 
were  never  filled.  After  a  bucketful  of  earth  had  been 
slowly  shovelled  in,  the  laborer  paused,  laid  down  his 
spade  carefully  on  the  little  heap,  sighed  profoundly,  looked 
as  if  to  receive  congratulations  on  his  enormous  success, 
then  flinging,  with  a  grand  sweep,  the  tattered  old  cloak 
over  his  left  shoulder,  lifted  his  wheelbarrow  shafts  with 
dignity,  and  marched  slowly  and  measuredly  forward  to- 
wards the  heap  of  deposit,  as  Belisarius  might  have  moved 
at  a  funeral  in  the  intervals  of  asking  for  oboli.  But  re- 
duced gentlemen,  who  have  been  accustomed  to  carry  round 
the  hat  as  an  occupation,  always  have  a  certain  air  of  con- 
descension when  they  work  for  pay,  and,  by  their  dignity 
of  deportment,  make  you  sensible  of  their  former  supe- 
rior state.  Occasionally,  as  in  case  a  forestiere  was  near, 
the  older,  idler,  and  more  gentlemanlike  profession  would 
be  resumed  for  a  moment  (as  by  parenthesis),  and  if  with- 
out success,  a  sadder  dignity  would  be  seen  in  the  subse- 
quent march.  Very  properly  for  persons  who  had  been 
reduced  from  beggary  to  work,  they  seemed  to  be  anxious 
both  for  their  health  and  their  appearance  in  public,  and 
accordingly  a  vast  deal  more  time  was  spent  in  the  ar- 
rangement of  the  cloak  than  in  any  other  part  of  the  busi- 
ness. It  was  grand  in  effect,  to  see  these  figures,  encum- 
bered in  their  heavy  draperies,  guiding  their  wheelbarrows 
through  the  great  arches  of  Caracalla's  Baths,  or  along 
the  Via  Sacia;  and  determined  to  show,  that  in  despite 
of  fortune  they  wire  still  the  (jens  to^ata. 


BEGGARS -PUBLIC   CHARITIES  IN  ROME.      55 

It  would,  however,  be  a  grievous  mistake  to  suppose  that 
all  the  beggars  in  the  streets  of  Rome  are  Romans.  In 
point  of  fact,  the  greater  number  are  strangers,  who  con- 
gregate in  Rome  during  the  winter  from  every  quarter. 
Naples  sends  them  in  by  thousands.  Every  little  coun> 
try  town  of  the  Abruzzi  Mountains  yields  its  contribu- 
tion. From  north,  south,  east,  and  west  they  flock  here 
as  to  a  centre  where  good  pickings  may  be  had  of  the 
crumbs  that  fall  from  the  rich  men's  tables.  In  the  sum- 
mer season  they  return  to  their  homes  with  their  earnings, 
and  not  one  in  five  of  those  who  haunted  the  churches  and 
streets  in  the  winter  is  to  be  seen  in  June. 

It  is  but  justice  to  the  Roman  government  to  say  that 
its  charities  are  very  large.  If,  on  the  one  hand,  it  does 
not  encourage  commerce  and  industry,  on  the  other,  it 
liberally  provides  for  the  poor.  In  proportion  to  its  means, 
no  government  does  more,  if  so  much.  Every  church  has 
its  poor-box  (Cassa  del  Poveri).  Numerous  societies,  such 
as  the  Sacconi,  and  other  confraternities,  employ  them- 
selves in  accumulating  contributions  for  the  relief  of  the 
poor  and  wretched.  Well-endowed  hospitals  exist  for  the 
care  of  the  sick  and  unfortunate  ;  and  there  are  various  es- 
tablishments for  the  charge  and  education  of  poor  orphans. 
A  few  figures  will  show  how  ample  are  these  charities. 
The  revenue  of  these  institutions  is  no  less  than  eight  hun- 
dred and  forty  thousand  scudi  annually,  of  which  three 
hundred  thousand  are  contributed  by  the  Papal  treasury, 
forty  thousand  of  which  are  a  tax  upon  the  Lottery.  The 
hospitals,  altogether,  accommodate  about  four  thousand  five 
hundred  patients,  the  average  number  annually  received 
amounting  to  about  twelve  thousand  ;  and  the  foundling 
hospitals  alone  are  capable  of  receiving  upwards  of  three 
thousand  children  annually.  Besides  the  hospitals  for  the 
sick,  there  is  also  a  hospital  for  poor  convalescents  at  Sta. 
Trinitk  del  Pellegrini,  a  lunatic  asylum  containing  about 
four  hundred  patients,  one  for  incurables  at  San  Giacomo, 
a  lying-in  hospital  at  San  Rocco,  and  a  hospital  of  educa- 
tion and  industry  at  San  Michele.  There  are  also  thirteen 
societies  for  bestowing  dowries  on  poor  young  girls  on  their 
marriage  ;  and  from  the  public  purse,  for  the  same  object, 


56  RODA  DI  ROMA. 

are  expended  every  year  no  less  than  thirty- two  thousand 
scudi.  In  addition  to  these  charities  are  the  sums  collected 
and  administered  by  the  various  confraternities,  as  well  as 
the  sum  of  one  hundred  and  seventy-two  thousand  scitdi 
distributed  to  the  poor  by  the  commission  of  subsidies.  But 
though  so  much  money  is  thus  expended,  it  cannot  be  said 
that  it  is  well  administered.  The  proportion  of  deaths  at 
the  hospitals  is  very  large  ;  and  among  the  foundlings,  it 
amounted,  between  the  years  1829  and  1833,  to  no  less 
than  seventy-two  per  cent. 

The  paupers  of  Rome,  embracing  those  who  live  by 
mendicancy,  or  who  are  provided  for  by  private  charity, 
or  are  sheltered  and  cared  for  in  the  public  hospices,  are 
reckoned  to  amount,  in  the  city  itself,  to  2,012,  thus  consti- 
tuting the  proportion  of  1  pauper  to  every  102  inhabitants, 
which  is  certainly  very  small  compared  with  that  of  Paris, 
where  it  is  about  1  to  19,  or  of  London,  where  it  is  about 
1  to  16.  "While  the  proportion  of  paupers  is  smaller  in 
Rome,  the  subsidies  of  their  support  are  much  greater,  and 
a  case  of  death  from  actual  famine,  such  as  occurs  so  fre- 
quently in  London,  is  absolutely  unknown. 

Despite  the  enormous  sums  expended  in  charity,  there  is 
much  poverty  and  suffering  among  the  lower  classes  in 
Rome.  No  one  certainly  need  ever  die  of  hunger,  if  he  be 
willing  to  live  on  public  charity.  But  a  natural  pride  pre- 
vents many  from  availing  themselves  of  this ;  and  there  is  a 
large  class  which  barely  struggles  along,  enduring  great 
privations,  living  in  the  most  miserable  manner,  and  glad 
in  any  way  to  earn  an  honest  penny.  The  beggars  are  by 
no  means  the  greatest  sufferers,  though,  heaven  knows, 
many  of  them  are  wretched  enough.  These  poor  classes 
live  generally  on  the  ground  floor,  gregariously  crowded 
into  damp  and  unwholesome  rooms.  You  may  peep  into 
their  dark  and  dismal  caves  as  you  pass  along  the  street. 
The  broken  and  uneven  floors  are  paved  with  brick  and 
clammy  with  moisture,  the  walls  damp  and  stained  with 
great  blotches  of  saltpetre,  the  rafters  of  the  ceilings  brown 
with  age  and  smoke,  the  furniture  shabby,  rickety  and 
consisting  of  a  rude  chest  of  drawers,  a  few  broken-down 
chairs,  a  table,  and  a  large  high  bed  of  corn-leaves,  mounted 


BEGGARS—  THE  POOR  AND  THEIR  PATIENCE.    57 

upon  trestles,  which  stands  in  the  corner  covered  with  a 
white  quilt.  Yet  no  place  is  so  mean  as  to  be  without  its 
tawdry  picture  of  the  Madonna,  and  out  of  the  smallest 
means  a  sum  is  squeezed  enough  to  feed  with  oil  the 
slender,  crusted  wick  of  the  onion-shaped  lamp,  which 
sheds  upon  it  a  thick,  dull,  yellow  point  of  feeble  flame. 
In  the  winter  these  rooms  are  cold,  unwholesome,  rheu- 
matic, and  reek  with  moisture.  There,  in  the  rainy 
season,  the  old  women  crouch  over  their  little  earthenware 
pot  of  coals  (scaldtno),  warming  their  shrivelled,  veiny 
hands,  or  place  it  under  their  dress  to  warm  their  ill-fed 
bodies.  Yet  despite  their  poverty  and  sufferings  they  are 
not  a  complaining  people,  and  there  is  something  touch- 
ing in  their  resignation,  their  constant  reference  to  the 
Madonna,  and  their  invariable  refrain  of  "  Pazierf^j,." 
If  you  give  them  a  baiocco  they  are  very  grateful,  and  at 
once  pray  to  the  Madonna  to  bless  you,  for  it  is  she  who  has 
prompted  the  gift  and  she  who  will  reward  it.  Yet  the 
climate  is  kindly,  and  the  weeks  of  cold  and  rain  are  few, 
and  when  the  sun  shines  and  the  air  is  mild,  you  will  see 
them  all  sitting  outside  their  doors  in  the  street,  which  is 
their  saloon,  chatting  gayly,  screaming  across  to  their  neigh- 
bors, and  sometimes  bursting  into  wild  Campagna  songs. 
Some  of  them  earn  a  slender  pittance  by  keeping  a  little 
stall  of  roasted  chestnuts,  and  apples,  and  pine-cones,  over 
which  at  times  is  spread  a  coarse  canvas  supported  by 
three  or  four  poles,  sometimes  to  keep  the  wind  off  and 
sometimes  to  shelter  them  from  the  sun.  Not  all,  how- 
ever, can  afford  this  luxury,  —  one  must  be  rather  up  in 
the  world  for  that.  The  love  days  have  gone  by ;  but 
there  is  often  seen  hovering  about  one  of  these  old  women 
the  remains  of  the  "  bel  giovane  "  who  won  her  heart  and 
hand,  in  a  tall  battered  white  hat,  a  short  jacket,  a  waist- 
coat patched  with  old  and  new  colors,  and  long  blue 
stockings  on  his  bent  legs,  who  now  plays  second  fiddle  and 
fusses  about  the  little  establishment,  rearranging  the  hum- 
ble wares  with  tremulous  hands,  and  looking  round  for 
customers,  and  indulging  in  chat  about  the  weather  and 
the  times.  She  meanwhile  sits  calmly  there  with  her 
scaldino,  the  master-spirit,  who  rules  and  decides  all. 


58  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

But  to  return  to  the  beggars.  At  many  of  the  convents 
in  Rome  it  is  the  custom  at  noon  to  distribute,  gratis,  at 
the  door,  a  quantity  of  soup,  and  any  poor  person  may 
receive  a  bowlful  on  demand.  Many  of  the  beggars  thus 
become  pensioners  of  the  convents,  and  may  be  seen  daily 
at  the  appointed  hour  gathering  round  the  door  with  tlie5r 
bowl  and  wooden  spoon,  in  expectation  of  \hefrate  \vith 
the  soup.  This  is  generally  made  so  thick  with  cabbage 
that  it  might  be  called  a  cabbage-stew  ;  but  Soyer  himself 
never  made  a  dish  more  acceptable  to  the  palate  of  the 
guests  than  this.  No  nightingales'  tongues  at  a  banquet 
of  Tiberius,  no  edible  birds'-nests  at  a  Chinese  feast,  were 
ever  relished  with  more  gusto.  I  have  often  counted  at 
the  gates  of  the  Convent  of  Capuchins,  in  the  Via  S.  Basilio, 
from  eighty  to  one  hundred  of  these  poor  wretches,  some 
stretched  at  length  on  the  pavement,  some  gathered  in 
groups  under  the  shadow  of  the  garden  wall  or  on  the 
steps  of  the  studios,  and  discussing  politics,  Austria, 
France,  Italy,  Louis  Napoleon,  and  Garibaldi,  while  they 
waited  for  their  daily  meal.  When  the  bells  ring  for  mid- 
day, the  gates  are  opened  and  the  crowd  pours  in  ;  and 
then,  with  their  hats  off,  you  may  see  them  gathered  round 
the  cauldron,  from  which  a  burly  Capuchin  ladles  out  soup 
into  their  wooden  platters,  after  they  have  all  repeated  after 
him  their  "pater  noster."  The  figures  and  actions  of 
these  poor  wretches,  after  they  have  obtained  their  soup, 
make  one  sigh  for  human  nature.  Each,  grasping  his  por- 
tion as  if  it  were  a  treasure,  separates  himself  .immediately 
from  his  brothers,  flees  selfishly  to  a  corner,  if  he  can  find 
one  empty,  or,  if  not,  goes  to  a  distance,  turns  his  back  on 
his  friends,  and,  glancing  anxiously  at  intervals  all  around, 
as  if  in  fear  of  a  surprise,  gobbles  up  his  cabbage,  wipes 
out  his  bowl,  and  then  returns  to  companionship  or  dis- 
appears. The  idea  of  sharing  his  portion  with  those  who 
are  portionless  occurs  to  him  only  as  the  idea  of  a  robber 
to  the  mind  of  a  miser. 

Any  account  of  the  beggars  of  Rome  without  mention 
of  the  Capuchins  and  Franciscans  would  be  like  perform- 
ing the  "  Merchant  of  Venice  "  with  no  Shylock  ;  for  these 
orders  are  founded  in  beggary  and  supported  by  charity. 


iEGGARS-FRANCISCANS  AND  CAPUCHINS.    59 

The  priests  do  not  beg;  but  their  ambassadors,  the  lay 
brothers,  clad  in  their  long  brown  serge,  a  cord  around 
their  waist,  and  a  basket  on  their  arm,  may  be  seen  shuf- 
fling along  at  any  hour  and  in  every  street,  in  dirty,  san- 
dalled feet,  to  levy  contributions  from  shops  and  houses. 
Here  they  get  a  loaf  of  bread,  there  a  pound  of  flour  or  rice, 
in  one  place  fruit  or  cheese,  in  another  a  bit  of  meat,  until 
their  basket  is  filled.  Sometimes  money  is  given,  but  gen- 
erally they  are  paid  in  articles  of  food.  There  is  another 
set  of  these  brothers,  who  enter  your  studio,  or  ring  at 
your  bell,  and  present  a  little  tin  box  with  a  slit  in  it,  into 
which  you  are  requested  to  drop  any  sum  you  please,  for 
the  holidays,  for  masses,  for  wax  candles,  etc.  As  a  big 
piece  of  copper  makes  more  ring  than  gold,  it  is  generally 
given,  and  always  gratefully  received.  Sometimes  they 
will  enter  into  conversation,  and  are  always  pleased  to 
have  a  little  chat  about  the  weather.  They  are  very  poor, 
very  good-natured,  and  very  dirty.  It  is  a  pity  they  do 
not  baptize  themselves  a  little  more  with  the  material 
water  of  this  world.  But  they  seem  to  have  a  hydro- 
phobia. Whatever  the  inside  of  the  platter  may  be,  the 
outside  is  far  from  clean.  They  walk  by  day  and  they 
sleep  by  night  in  the  same  old  snuffy  robe,  which  is  not 
kept  from  contact  with  the  skin  by  any  luxury  of  linen, 
until  it  is  worn  out.  Dirt  and  piety  seem  to  them  synony- 
mous. In  disbelieving  moments,  I  cannot  help  applying 
to  them  Charles  Lamb's  famous  speech  to  Martin  Burney, 
"  If  dirt  were  trumps,  what  a  hand  they  would  have  of 
it !  "  Yet,  beggars  as  they  are,  by  faith  and  profession, 
they  have  the  reputation  at  Rome  of  being  the  most 
inoffensive  of  all  the  conventual  orders,  and  are  looked 

This  saying-,  however,  though  popularly  credited  to  Charles 
Lamb,  attributed  to  him  by  his  biographers,  and  recently  repeated 
by  Mr.  Proctor  (Barry  Cornwall)  in  his  very  interesting  Reminis- 
cences of  Lamb,  would  appear  not  to  belong  to  him,  if  we  are  to 
trust  the  statement  of  a  late  writer  in  Macmillari's  Magazine. 
He  says  that  it  was  "made  by  a  gentleman  who  never  uttered  a 
second  witticism  in  the  whole  course  of  his  life,  and  who  thought  it 
a  little  hard  to  be  robbed  of  this  unique  achievement.  The  real  per- 
son, we  have  understood,  was  the  father  of  the  present  Mr.  Commis- 
sioner Ayrton. ' ' 


60  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

upon  by  the  common  people  with  kindliness,  as  being 
thoroughly  sincere  in  their  religious  professions.  They 
are  at  least  consistent  in  many  respects  in  their  professions 
and  practice.  They  really  mortify  the  flesh  by  penance, 
fasting,  and  wretched  fare,  as  well  as  by  dirt.  They  do 
not  proclaim  the  virtues  and  charms  of  poverty,  while  they 
roll  about  in  gilded  coaches,  dressed  in  "  purple  and  fine 
linen,"  or  gloat  over  the  luxuries  of  the  table.  Tlnir 
vices  are  not  the  cardinal  ones,  whatever  their  virtues  may 
be.  The  "  Miracles  of  St.  Peter,"  as  the  common  people 
call  the  palaces  of  Rome,  are  not  wrought  for  them.  Their 
table  is  mean  and  scantily  provided  with  the  most  ordinary 
food.  Three  days  in  the  wetk  they  eat  no  meat;  and 
during  the  year  they  keep  three  Quaresime.  But,  good  as 
they  are,  their  sour,  thin  wine,  on  empty,  craving  stomachs, 
sometimes  does  a  mad  work  ;  and  these  brothers  in  dirt 
and  piety  have  occasionally  violent  rows  and  disputes  in 
their  refectories  over  their  earthen  bottles.  It  is  only  a 
short  time  since  that  my  old  friends  the  Capuchins  got 
furious  together  over  their  wine,  and  ended  by  knocking 
each  other  about  the  ears  with  their  earthen  jars,  aftc  r 
they  had  emptied  them.  Several  were  wounded  and  had 
time  to  repent  and  wash  in  their  cells.  But  one  should 
not  be  too  hard  on  them.  The  temper  will  not  withstand 
too  much  fasting.  A  good  dinner  puts  one  at  peace  with 
the  world,  but  an  empty  stomach  is  the  habitation  often  of 
the  Devil,  who  amuses  himself  there  with  pulling  all  the 
nerve-wires  that  reach  up  into  the  brain.  I  doubt  whether 
even  St.  Simeon  Stylites  always  kept  his  temper  as  well  as 
he  did  his  fast. 

As  I  see  them  walking  up  and  down  the  alleys  of  their 
vegetable-garden,  and  under  the  sunny  wall  where,  with- 
out the  least  asceticism,  oranges  glow  and  roses  bloom 
during  the  whole  winter,  I  do  not  believe  in  their  doctrine, 
nor  envy  them  their  life.  And  I  cannot  but  think  that 
the  thousands  oifrati  who  are  in  the  Roman  States  would 
do  quite  as  good  service  to  God  and  man,  if  they  were  an 
army  of  laborers  on  the  Campagna,  or  elsewhere,  as  in 
their  present  life  of  beggary  and  self-contemplation.  I 
often  wonder,  as  I  look  at  them,  hearty  and  stout  as  they 


BEGGARS—  CAPUCHINS  IN  THE  GARDEN.     61 

are,  despite  their  mode  of  life,  what  brought  them  to  this 
pass,  what  induced  them  to  enter  this  order,  —  and  recall, 
in  this  connection,  a  little  anecdote  current  here  in  Rome, 
to  the  following  effect :  —  A  young  fellow,  from  whom 
Fortune  had  withheld  her  gifts,  having  become  desperate, 
at  last  declared  to  a  friend  that  he  meant  to  throw  himself 
into  the  Tiber,  and  end  a  life  which  was  worse  than  use- 
less. "  No,  no,"  said  his  friend,  "  don't  do  that.  If  your 
affairs  are  so  desperate,  retire  into  a  convent ;  become  a 
Capuchin."  "  Ah,  no  !  "  was  the  indignant  answer  ;  "  I 
am  desperate  ;  but  I  have  not  yet  arrived  at  such  a  pitch 
of  desperation  as  that." 

Though  the  Franciscans  live  upon  charity,  they  have  al- 
most always  a  garden  connected  with  their  convent,  where 
they  raise  multitudes  of  cabbages,  cauliflowers,  fennel, 
peas,  beans,  artichokes,  and  lettuce.  Indeed,  there  is  one 
kind  of  the  latter  which  is  named  after  them  —  capuccini. 
But  their  gardens  they  do  not  till  themselves ;  they  hire 
gardeners,  who  work  for  them.  Now,  I  cannot  but  think 
that  working  in  a  garden  is  just  as  pious  an  employment 
as  begging  about  the  streets,  though,  perhaps,  scarcely  as 
profitable.  The  opinion  that,  in  some  respects,  it  would 
be  better  for  them  to  attend  to  this  work  themselves 
was  forced  upon  my  mind  by  a  little  farce  I  happened  to 
see  enacted  among  their  cabbages,  the  other  day  as  I  was 
looking  down  out  of  my  window.  My  attention  was  first 
attracted  by  hearing  a  window  open  from  a  little  three- 
story-high  loggia,  opposite,  hanging  over  their  garden.  A 
woman  came  forth,  and,  from  amid  the  flowerpots,  which 
half  concealed  her,  she  dropped  a  long  cord  to  the  ground. 
"  Pst,  pst,"  she  cried  to  the  gardener  at  work  below.  He 
looked  up,  executed  a  curious  pantomime,  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  shook  his  forefinger,  and  motioned  with  his 
head  and  elbow  sideways  to  a  figure,  visible  to  me,  but  not 
to  her,  of  a  brown  Franciscan,  who  was  amusing  himself 
in  gathering  some  fennel,  just  round  the  corner  of  the  wall. 
The  woman,  who  was  fishing  for  the  cabbages,  immedi- 
ately understood  the  predicament,  drew  up  her  cord,  dis- 
appeared from  the  loggia,  and  the  curtain  fell  upon  the 
little  farce.  The  gardener,  however  evidently  had  a  little 


62  110BA  DI  ROMA. 

soliloquy  after  she  had  gone.  He  ceased  working,  and 
gazed  at  the  unconscious  Franciscan  for  some  time,  with 
a  curious  grimace,  as  if  he  were  not  quite  satisfied  at  thus 
losing  his  little  perquisite. 

And  here,  perhaps,  a  short  account  of  the  Capuchins 
may  not  be  out  of  place  or  without  interest. 

The  headquarters  of  the  Capuchins  throughout  the 
world  is  the  Convent  of  Santa  Maria  della  Concezione, 
close  by  the  Piazza  Barberini,  and  here  reside  the  general 
of  the  order  and  his  staff.  The  convent  is  very  large, 
having  no  less  than  six  hundred  cells ;  but  all  of  these 
are  rarely  if  ever  occupied.  The  Famiglia  proper,  by 
which  term  is  meant  the  friars,  both  lay  and  clerical,  be- 
longing to  it,  number  about  one  hundred  and  twenty ;  but 
as  it  is  the  chief  house  of  all  the  provinces  of  Rome,  the 
general  hospital  for  sick  and  infirm  is  here,  and  there  are 
always  a  certain  number  of  friars  in  it  who  do  not  belong 
to  the  convent.  To  this  nmst  be  added  the  visitors  from 
all  parts  of  the  world,  who  ccme  on  ecclesiastical  business 
and  for  other  reasons ;  and  with  these  additions  the  num- 
ber of  persons  in  the  ccnvent  does  not  generally  vary 
much  from  about  two  hundred  persons.  The  padri  or 
priests  are  many  of  them  well-educated  men,  as  far  as 
Latin  and  theology  go,  and  they  devote  the  chief  part  of 
their  time  to  prayer  and  saying  mass,  giving  the  remain- 
der, which  is  not  much,  to  study.  The  lay  brothers  are 
completely  illiterate,  and  thtir  occupation  is  to  beg  alms 
in  the  streets,  to  sweep  the  cells,  cook  the  dinner,  serve  at 
table,  and  perform  the  menial  duties  of  the  convent. 
They  also  pretend  to  cultivate  the  garden,  but  they  do  this 
chiefly  by  proxy,  "  assisting,"  for  the  most  part,  in  a 
purely  French  sense. 

The  cells  in  which  they  live  are  only  about  six  feet  by 
ten  in  size ;  they  are  paved  with  brick,  and,  instead  of 
glass,  they  have  linen  cloth  in  their  windows.  Their  fur- 
niture is  a  crucifix,  a  bed  or  pallet,  a  vase  of  holy  water, 
and  some  coarse  print  of  a  saint  or  two.  They  have  no 
sheets  upon  their  beds,  but  only  blankets  ;  and  they  do 
not  undress,  but  sleep  in  their  monastic  dresses,  which  are 
renewed  once  in  three  years.  They  wear  no  linen  under- 


BEGGARS  — LIFE  OF  CAPUCHINS.  63 

clothes,  and,  unless  their  health  requires  it,  no  stockings  ; 
and  the  result  as  to  cleanliness  may  be  easily  imagined. 

Connected  with  the  convent  is  a  factory,  where  the  cloth, 
worn  by  the  Capuchins  throughout  the  Romagna,  is  woven, 
and  where  the  leathern  sandals  are  fashioned.  But  even 
in  this,  secular  labor  is  called  in,  the  friars  having  a  cer- 
tain unwillingness  to  do  any  labor.  Pieces  of  cloth,  al- 
ready cut  into  the  appropriate  form,  are  distributed  among 
the  community  once  in  three  years,  and  each  sews  it  up 
for  himself. 

Their  life  is  by  no  means  an  enviable  one.  Their  fare 
is  very  meagre,  and  their  religious  duties  constant.  Their 
day  commences  at  midnight,  when  they  are  all  roused 
from  their  beds  by  a  sort  of  rattle  of  wood  and  iron, 
called  a  "  troccolo,"  and  by  the  sharp  clang  of  the  church- 
bell,  to  say  matins  in  the  choir  of  the  church.  The  scene 
here  is  then  said  to  be  very  picturesque.  A  single  oil 
lamp  burning  over  the  reading-desk  is  the  sole  light  in  the 
church.  There  stands  the  officiating  priest,  and  reads  the 
collects  and  lessons  of  the  day,  while  the  others  gather  in 
the  shadow,  and  chant  their  hymns  and  responses  in  hoarse 
bass  voices,  that  echo  through  the  vaulted  choir.  At  the 
end  of  the  matins  the  bell  begins  to  toll,  and  the  solemn 
Te  Deum  is  sung,  after  which,  without  speaking,  all  re- 
turn to  their  narrow  cells.  Sometimes,  in  the  cold  winter 
nights,  sitting  alone  in  a  warm  room,  with  all  the  comforts 
of  life  and  warmth  about  me,  as  I  hear  the  convent  bell 
ringing  at  midnight,  and  know  that  at  its  sound  every  one 
of  the  Capuchins,  whether  he  be  old,  rheumatic,  and  weary, 
or  not,  must  rise  from  his  bed  to  go  into  that  cold,  cheer- 
less chapel,  and'  say  his  matins,  my  heart  is  touched  with 
pity  for  them.  But  I  hope  habit  makes  it  easier  to  them 
than  it  would  be  to  me,  and,  at  all  events,  the  evil  is  miti- 
gated by  the  fact  that  they  do  not  have  to  dress. 

At  six  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  bell  rings  them  to 
mass,  and  from  this  time  forward  the  chief  portion  of  the 
day  is  devoted  to  religious  exercises ;  for  what  with  masses, 
and  hearing  confessions,  and  accompanying  funerals,  and 
the  canonical  hours,  and  vespers,  nocturns.  and  complines, 
little  time  can  remain  for  anything  else.  One  of  their 


64  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

exercises,  which  they  have  in  common  with  the  Quakers, 
is  that  of  silent  meditation,  which  takes  place  in  the 
morning,  and  at  twilight,  when  the  friars  all  meet  and 
commune  silently  with  themselves.  On  these  occasions 
the  blinds  are  closed  so  as  to  shut  out  the  light,  and  here 
they  remain  without  speaking  for  a  half-hour.  What  they 
think  about  then,  they  alone  know.  Of  course  the  lay 
brothers  are  not  held  very  strictly  to  the  religious  exer- 
cises, or  it  would  be  scarcely  possible  for  them  to  perform 
all  their  other  functions. 

These  brown-cowled  gentlemen  are  not  the  only  ones 
who  carry  the  tin  box.  Along  the  curbstones  of  the  public 
walks,  and  on  the  steps  of  the  churches,  sit  blind  old  creat- 
ures, who  shake  at  you  a  tin  box,  outside  of  which  is  a 
figure  of  the  Madonna,  and  inside  of  which  are  two  or 
three  baiocchi,  as  a  rattling  accompaniment  to  an  unending 
invocation  of  aid.  Their  dismal  chant  is  protracted  for 
hours  and  hours,  increasing  in  loudness  whenever  the  steps 
of  a  passer-by  are  heard.  It  is  the  old  strophe  and  anti- 
strophe  of  begging  and  blessing,  and  the  singers  are  so 
wretched  that  one  is  often  softened  into  charity.  Those 
who  are  not  blind  have  often  a  new  almanac  to  sell  to- 
wards the  end  of  the  year,  and  at  other  times  they  vary 
the  occupation  of  shaking  the  box  by  selling  lives  of  the 
saints,  which  are  sometimes  wonderful  enough.  One  sad 
old  woman,  who  sits  near  the  Quattro  Fontane,  and  says 
her  prayers  and  rattles  her  box,  always  touches  my  heart, 
there  is  such  an  air  of  forlornness  and  sweetness  about 
her.  As  I  was  returning,  last  night,  from  a  mass  at  San 
Giovanni  in  Laterano,  an  old  man  glared  at  us  through 
great  green  goggles,  —  to  which  those  of  the  "  green-eyed 
monster  "  would  have  yielded  in  size  and  color,  —  and 
shook  his  box  for  a  baiocco.  "  And  where  does  this  money 
go  ?  "  I  asked.  "  To  say  masses  for  the  souls  of  those 
who  die  over  opposite,"  said  he,  pointing  to  the  Hospital 
of  San  Giovanni,  through  the  open  doors  of  which  we  could 
see  the  patients  lying  in  their  beds. 

Nor  are  these  the  only  friends  of  the  box.  Often  in 
walking  the  streets  one  is  suddenly  shaken  in  your  ear, 
and  turning  round  you  are  stai-tled  to  see  a  figure  entirely 


BEGGARS— THE  SACCONI.  65 

clothed  in  white  from  head  to  foot,  a  rope  round  his  waist, 
and  a  white  hood  drawn  over  his  head  and  face,  and  show- 
ing, through  two  round  holes,  a  pair  of  sharp  black  eyes 
behind  them.  He  says  nothing,  but  shakes  his  box  at 
you,  often  threateningly,  and  always  with  an  air  of  mys- 
tery. This  is  a  penitent  Saccone  ;  and  as  this  confrater- 
nita  is  composed  chiefly  of  noblemen,  he  may  be  one  of 
the  first  princes  or  cardinals  in  Rome,  performing  penance 
in  expiation  of  his  sins ;  or,  for  all  you  can  see,  it  may  be 
one  of  your  intimate  friends.  The  money  thus  collected 
goes  to  various  charities.  The  Sacconi  always  go  in 
couples,  —  one  taking  one  side  of  the  street,  the  other 
the  opposite,  —  never  losing  sight  of  each  other,  and  never 
speaking.  Clothed  thus  in  secrecy,  they  can  test  the  gen- 
erosity of  any  one  they  meet  with  complete  impunity,  and 
they  often  amuse  themselves  with  startling  foreigners. 
Many  a  group  of  English  girls,  convoyed  by  their  mother, 
and  staring  into  some  mosaic  or  cameo  shop,  is  scared  into 
a  scream  by  the  sudden  jingle  of  the  box,  and  the  appari- 
tion of  the  spectre  in  white  who  shakes  it.  And  many  a 
simple  old  lady  retains  to  the  end  of  her  life  a  confused 
impression,  derived  therefrom,  of  inquisitions,  stilettos, 
tortures,  and  banditti,  from  which  it  is  vain  to  attempt  to 
dispossess  her  mind.  The  stout  old  gentleman,  with  a 
bald  forehead  and  an  irascibly  rosy  face,  takes  it  often  in 
another  way,  —  confounds  the  fellows  for  their  imperti- 
nence, has  serious  notions,  first,  of  knocking  them  down 
on  the  spot,  and  then  of  calling  the  police,  but  finally  de- 
termines to  take  no  notice  of  them,  as  they  are  nothing 
but  foreigners,  who  cannot  be  expected  to  know  how  to 
behave  themselves  in  a  rational  manner.  Sometimes  a 
holy  charity  (santa  elemosina)  is  demanded  after  the 
oddest  fashion.  It  was  only  yesterday  that  I  met  one  of 
the  confraternities,  dressed  in  a  shabby  red  suit,  coming 
up  the  street  with  the  invariable  oblong  tin  begging-box 
in  his  hand,  —  a  picture  of  Christ  on  one  side,  and  of  the 
Madonna  on  the  other.  He  went  straight  to  a  door  open- 
ing into  a  large,  dark  room,  where  there  was  a  full  cistern 
of  running  water,  at  which  several  poor  women  were  wash- 
ing clothes,  and  singing  and  chattering  as  they  worked. 


66  KOBA  DI  ROMA. 

My  red  acquaintance  suddenly  opens  the  door,  letting  in 
a  stream  of  light  upon  this  Rembrandtish  interior,  and 
lifting  his  box  with  the  most  wheedling  of  smiles,  he  says, 
with  a  rising  inflection  of  voice,  as  if  asking  a  question, 
"  Prezioso  sangue  di  Gesu  Cristo  ?  "  —  (Precious  blood 
of  Jesus  Christ  ?) 

Others  of  these  disguised  gentlemen  of  the  begging-box 
sit  at  the  corners  of  the  streets  or  on  the  steps  of  the 
churches,  or  wander  about,  entering  everywhere  the  shops, 
to  collect  sums  for  prisoners,  and  among  these  are  often 
gentlemen  of  good  family  and  fortune ;  others  carry  with 
them  a  sack,  in  which  they  receive  alms  in  kind  for 
the  same  purpose.  The  Romans  are  a  charitable  people, 
and  they  always  give  liberally  of  their  store.  In  the 
Piazza  della  Rotonda  and  the  Piazza  Navona  you  will  see 
these  brethren  of  the  sack  begging  of  the  fruiterers  and 
hucksters  ;  and  few  there  are  who  refuse  to  add  their  little 
for  the  poor  prisoners.  As  soon  as  they  are  told  that  the 
charity  is  for  them,  they  drop  into  the  sack  a  wedge  of 
cheese,  a  couple  of  provature,  a  handful  of  rice,  a  loaf  of 
bread,  two  or  three  oranges,  apples,  pears,  or  potatoes,  or 
a  good  slice  of  polenta,  saying,  "  Eh,  poveracci,  Dio  li 
cojisoli,  pigliate  "  (Ah,  poor  creatures,  may  God  help  them ! 
take  these)  ;  —  for  you  must  remember  a  prisoner  does  not 
always  mean  a  criminal  in  Rome.  Sometimes  into  the 
box  drops  the  last  baiocco  of  some  poor  fellow,  who  as  he 
gives  it  says,  in  Trastevere  dialect,  —  "  Voi  die  siete  un 
religioso  di  Dio,  fateme  busca  'n  ternetto,  die  pozza  paga 
la  pigione,"  —  (Give  me  a  winning  terno  in  the  lottery, 
to  pay  my  rent.) 

There  is  another  species  of  begging  and  extortion  prac- 
tised in  Rome  which  deserves  notice  in  this  connection. 
Besides  the  perpetual  hand  held  out  by  the  mendicants  in 
the  street,  there  are  festivals  and  ceremonials  where  the 
people  demand  as  of  right  certain  vails  and  presents  called 
mancie  and  propine.  The  largesse  which  in  old  times 
used  to  be  scattered  by  the  emperors  who  came  to  Rome 
to  be  crowned  in  St.  Peter's  is  still  given,  after  a  degener- 
ate way,  upon  the  coronation  of  a  Pope.  Formerly  it 
was  the  custom  for  the  Pope  to  proceed  to  the  church  on 


BEGGARS— VAILS  AND  FEES.  67 

horseback,  his  almoner  following  after  him  with  two  sacks 
of  money  in  gold,  silver,  and  copper,  which  he  scattered 
among  the  crowds  accompanying  the  Papal  procession. 
But  au  accident  having  happened  at  the  installation  of 
Clement  XIV.,  the  Pope  has  ever  since  driven  in  a 
triumphal  carriage ;  and  the  largesse  is  now  distributed 
by  his  almoner  in  the  Cortile  del  Belvedere,  where  the 
proud  inhabitants  of  the  Borgo  and  Trastevere  do  not 
disdain  to  hold  out  their  hands  as  they  pass  before  him 
for  the  little  sum  of  money  which  the  Holy  Father  still 
gives  to  his  faithful  children  on  this  august  occasion  — 
nay,  more,  they  claim  it  as  a  right. 

In  like  manner,  on  the  beatification  of  a  saint,  all  the 
intendants,  secretaries,  agents,  and  servants  of  every  kind 
are  entitled  to  a  mancia  ;  and  so  firmly  established  is  this 
custom,  that  a  specific  time  and  place  is  appointed  where 
they  present  themselves,  and  each  receives  his  vail  sealed 
up  in  an  envelope  of  paper,  and  addressed  to  him  by 
name. 

Whenever  a  Cardinal  is  made  Pope,  by  old  custom  all 
his  clothes  and  furniture  become  the  spoil  of  his  servants. 
And  as  soon  as  the  report  of  his  election  by  the  Conclave 
runs  through  the  city,  his  apartments  are  at  once  sacked 
by  them.  Sometimes  the  report  proves  false,  and  the 
irritated  Cardinal,  whose  ambitious  hopes  have  crumbled 
into  vexation,  returning  home,  finds  his  luxurious  rooms 
turned  topsy-turvy,  and  not  even  a  change  of  dress  in  his 
wardrobe.  The  first  meeting  of  servants  and  master  on 
such  an  occasion  is  agreeable  to  neither  party ;  and  it  is 
not  to  be  wondered  at  if  the  name  of  the  Lord  is  some- 
times taken  in  vain,  and  "  apoplexies  "  are  showered  about 
in  profusion. 

Many  of  the  servants  of  the  princely  houses  and  in  the 
palaces  of  the  Cardinals  receive  no  wages,  the  mancie, 
which  by  time-honored  custom  they  are  entitled  to  claim 
of  visitors,  affording  an  ample  compensation.  Indeed,  in 
some  houses,  there  are  servants  who  pay  for  the  privilege 
of  serving  there,  their  mancie  far  exceeding  the  fair  rate 
of  their  wages.  Some  of  these  vails  are  expected  on 
Christmas  and  New  Year's  day ;  but  besides  these  there 


68  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

are  other  stated  occasions  when  the  frequenters  of  the 
house  are  expected  to  give  presents.  If  these  seem  to  the 
servant  insufficient  in  amount,  they  sometimes  go  so  far 
as  plainly  to  express  their  views  and  scornfully  to  say, 
"  Signore,  mi  si  viene  de  piu  ;  questa  non  e  la  inisura 
delta  propina  di  sala," —  (I  am  entitled  to  more)  —  just 
as  if  they  had  presented  a  bill  which  you  had  refused  to 
pay. 

Padre  Bresciani  relates  a  good  story  apropos  to  these 
mancie,  which  he  says  occurred  to  some  of  his  friends  and 
himself.  They  had  requested  a  deacon  of  their  acquaint- 
ance to  give  them  a  letter  to  the  custode  of  a  certain 
palace  in  order  that  they  might  see  some  beautiful  pictures 
there.  With  much  courtesy  the  request  was  granted,  and 
the  little  company  drove  at  once  to  the  palace,  and  pre- 
sented the  letter  to  the  custode,  a  tall  fellow  of  about  thirty 
years  of  age.  He  took  the  letter,  opened  it,  and  after 
fumbling  a  little  in  his  pockets  for  something,  turned  round 
to  one  of  them,  and  said,  "  Excuse  me,  I  have  not  my 
spectacles :  would  your  Excellency  have  the  goodness  to 
read  this  for  me?" 

The  gentleman  appealed  to  then  read  as  follows :  "  Vi 
raccommando  sommamente  questi  nobilissimi  Signori, 
mostrate  loro  tutte  le  rarita  del  palazzo,  ben  intesi,  accet- 
tando  le  vostre  propine."  —  ("  I  warmly  recommend  to 
you  these  most  distinguished  gentlemen :  show  them  all 
the  choice  things  in  the  palace,  —  accepting,  of  course, 
your  present  for  so  doing.") 

The  clever  custode,  imagining  that  these  gentlemen 
might  consider  that  the  letter  rendered  the  mancia  un- 
necessary, resorted  to  this  trick  to  let  them  see  that  neither 
the  deacon  nor  himself  intended  to  dispense  with  it. 

The  last,  but  by  no  means  the  meanest,  of  the  tribe  of 
pensioners  whom  I  shall  mention,  is  my  old  friend  "  Beef-- 
steak,"  —  now,  alas !  gone  to  the  shades  of  his  fathers. 
He  was  a  good  dog,  —  a  mongrel,  a  Pole  by  birth,  —  who 
accompanied  his  master  on  a  visit  to  Rome,  where  he 
became  so  enamored  of  the  place  that  he  could  not  be 
persuaded  to  return  to  his  native  home.  Bravely  he  cast 
himself  on  the  world,  determined  to  live,  like  many  of  his 


BEGGARS— "BEEFSTEAK."  69 

two-legged  countrymen,  upon  his  wits.  He  was  a  dog  of 
genius,  and  his  confidence  in  the  world  was  rewarded  by 
its  appreciation.  He  had  a  sympathy  for  the  arts.  The 
crowd  of  artists  who  daily  and  nightly  flocked  to  the  Lepre 
and  the  Gaffe  Greco  attracted  his  notice.  He  introduced 
himself  to  them,  and  visited  them  at  their  studios  and 
rooms.  A  friendship  was  struck  between  them  and  him, 
and  he  became  their  constant  visitor  and  their  most  at- 
tached ally.  Every  day,  at  the  hour  of  lunch,  or  at  the 
more  serious  hour  of  dinner,  he  lounged  into  the  Lepre, 
seated  himself  in  a  chair,  and  awaited  his  friends,  con- 
fident of  his  reception.  His  presence  was  always  hailed 
with  a  welcome,  and  to  every  new-comer  he  was  formally 
presented.  His  bearing  became,  at  last,  not  only  assured, 
but  patronizing.  He  received  the  gift  of  a  chicken-bone 
or  a  delicate  titbit  as  if  he  conferred  a  favor.  He  became 
an  epicure,  a  gourmet.  He  did  not  eat  much ;  he  ate 
well.  With  what  a  calm  superiority  and  gentle  contempt 
he  declined  the  refuse  bits  a  stranger  offered  from  his 
plate  !  His  glance,  and  upturned  nose,  and  quiet  refusal, 
seemed  to  say,  —  "  Ignoramus  !  know  you  not  I  am  Beef- 
steak?" His  dinner  finished,  he  descended  gravely  and 
proceeded  to  the  Gaffe  Greco,  there  to  listen  to  the  dis- 
cussions of  the  artists,  and  to  partake  of  a  little  coffee 
and  sugar,  of  which  he  was  very  fond.  At  night  he  ac- 
companied some  one  or  other  of  his  friends  to  his  room, 
and  slept  upon  the  rug.  He  knew  his  friends,  and  valued 
them ;  but  perhaps  his  most  remarkable  quality  was  his 
impartiality.  He  dispensed  his  favors  with  an  even  hand. 
He  had  few  favorites,  and  called  no  man  master.  He 
never  outstayed  his  welcome  "  and  told  the  jest  without 
the  smile,"  never  remaining  with  one  person  for  more 
than  two  or  three  days  at  most.  A  calmer  character,  a 
more  balanced  judgment,  a  better  temper,  a  more  ad-  • 
mirable  self-respect,  —  in  a  word,  a  profounder  sense  of 
what  belongs  to  a  gentleman,  was  never  known  in  any  dog. 
But  Beefsteak  is  now  no  more.  Just  after  the  agitations 
of  the  Revolution  of  1848,  with  which  he  had  little  sym- 
pathy, —  he  was  a  conservative  by  disposition,  —  he  dis- 
appeared. He  had  always  been  accustomed  to  make  a 


70  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

villeggiatura  at  L'Arriccia  during  a  portion  of  the  sum- 
mer months,  returning  only  now  and  then  to  look  after  his 
affairs  in  Rome.  On  such  visits  he  would  often  arrive 
towards  midnight,  and  rap  at  the  door  of  a  friend  to  claim 
his  hospitality,  barking  a  most  intelligible  answer  to  the 
universal  Roman  inquiry,  "  Chi  e?"  "One  morn  we 
missed  him  at  the  accustomed"  place,  and  thenceforth  he 
was  never  seen.  Whether  a  sudden  homesickness  for  his 
native  land  overcame  him,  or  a  fatal  accident  'befell  him, 
is  not  known.  Peace  to  his  manes !  There  "rests  his 
head  upon  the  lap  of  earth  "  no  better  dog. 

In  the  Roman  studio  of  one  of  his  friends  and  admir- 
ers, Mr.  Mason,  I  had  the  pleasure,  a  short  time  since,  to 
see,  among  several  admirable  and  spirited  pictures  of 
Campagna  life  and  incidents,  a  very  striking  portrait  of 
Beefsteak.  He  was  sitting  in  a  straw-bottomed  chair,  as 
we  have  so  often  seen  him  in  the  Lepre,  calm,  dignified 
in  his  deportment,  and  somewhat  obese.  The  full  brain, 
the  narrow,  fastidious  nose,  the  sagacious  eye,  were  so 
perfectly. given,  that  I  seemed  to  feel  the  actual  presence 
of  my  old  friend.  So  admirable  a  portrait  of  so  distin- 
guished a  person  should  not  be  lost  to  the  world.  It  should 
be  engraved,  or  at  least  photographed. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

CHRISTMAS   HOLIDAYS. 

THE  Christmas  Holidays  have  come,  and  with  them 
various  customs  and  celebrations  quite  peculiar  to  Rome. 
They  are  ushered  in  by  the  festive  clang  of  a  thousand 
bells  from  all  the  belfries  in  Rome  at  Ave  Maria  of  the 
evening  before  the  august  day.  At  about  nine  o'clock  of 
the  same  evening  the  Pope  performs  High  Mass  in  some 
one  of  the  great  churches,  generally  at  Santa  Maria  Mag- 
giore,  when  the  pillars  of  this  fine  old  basilica  are  draped 
with  red  hangings,  and  scores  of  candles  burn  in  the  side- 


CHRISTMAS  HOLIDAYS.  71 

chapels,  and  the  great  altar  blazes  with  light.  The  fugu- 
ing  chants  of  the  Papal  choir  sound  into  the  dome  and 
down  the  aisles,  while  the  Holy  Father  ministers  at  the 
altar,  and  a  motley  crowd  parade  and  jostle  and  saunter 
through  the  church.  Here,  mingled  together,  may  be 
seen  soldiers  of  the  Swiss  guard,  with  their  shining  hel- 
mets, long  halberds,  and  parti-colored  uniforms,  designed 
by  Michael  Angelo,  —  chamberlains  of  the  Pope,  all  in 
black,  with  high  ruffs,  Spanish  cloaks,  silken  stockings, 
and  golden  chains, — peasants  from  the  mountains,  in 
rich-colored  costumes  and  white  tovaglie,  —  common  la- 
borers from  the  Campagna,  with  black  mops  of  tangled 
hair,  - —  foreigners  of  every  nation,  —  Englishmen,  with 
sloping  shoulders,  long,  light,  pendent  whiskers,  and  an 
eye-glass  stuck  in  one  eye,  —  Germans,  with  spectacles, 
frogged  coats,  and  long  straight  hair  put  behind  their  ears 
and  cut  square  in  the  neck, — Americans,  in  high-heeled 
patent-leather  boots,  shabby  black  dress-coats,  black  satin 
waistcoats,  and  beards  shaved  only  from  the  upper  lip,  — • 
and  wasp-waisted  French  officers,  with  baggy  trousers, 
goat-beards,  and  a  pretentious  swagger.  Nearer  the  altar 
are  crowded  together  in  pens  a  mass  of  women  in  black 
dresses  and  black  veils,  who  are  determined  to  see  and 
hear  all,  treating  the  ceremony  purely  as  a  spectacle,  and 
not  as  a  religious  rite.  Meantime  the  music  soars,  the  or- 
gan groans,  the  censer  clicks,  and  steams  of  incense  float 
to  and  fro.  The  Pope  and  his  attendants  kneel  and  rise, 
—  he  lifts  the  Host  and  the  world  prostrates  itself.  A 
great  procession  of  dignitaries  with  torches  bears  a  frag- 
ment of  the  original  cradle  of  the  Holy  Bambino  from  its 
chapel  to  the  high  altar  through  the  swaying  crowd  that 
gape,  gaze,  stare,  sneer,  and  adore.  And  thus  the  evening 
passes.  When  the  clock  strikes  midnight  all  the  bells  ring 
merrily,  Mass  commences  at  the  principal  churches,  and 
at  San  Luigi  dei  Frances!  and  the  Gesu  there  is  a  great 
illumination  (what  the  French  call  un  joli  spectacle)  and 
very  good  music.  Thus  Christmas  is  ushered  in  at  Rome. 
The  next  day  is  a  great  festival.  All  classes  are  dressed 
in  their  best  and  go  to  Mass,  —  and  when  that  is  over, 
they  throng  the  streets  to  chat  and  lounge  and  laugh  and 


72  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

look  at  each  other.  The  Corso  is  so  crowded  in  the  morn- 
ing that  a  carriage  can  scarcely  pass.  Everywhere  one 
hears  the  pleasant  greetings  of  "  Buona  Festa"  "  Buona 
Pasqua"  All  the  basso  popolo,  too,  are  out,  —  the  wo- 
men wearing  their  hest  jewelry,  heavy  gold  ear-rings,  three- 
rowed  collane  of  well-worn  coral  and  gold,  long  silver  and 
gold  pins  and  arrows  in  their  hair,  and  great  worked 
brooches  with  pendants,  —  and  the  men  of  the  Trastevere 
in  their  peaked  hats,  their  short  jackets  swung  over  one 
shoulder  in  humble  imitation  of  the  Spanish  cloak,  and 
rich  scarfs  tied  round  their  waists.  Most  of  the  ordinary 
cries  of  the  day  are  missed.  But  the  constant  song  of 
"  Arancie!  arancw  dolci!"  (oranges,  sweet  oranges)  is 
heard  in  the  crowd ;  and  everywhere  the  cigar-sellers  are 
carrying  round  their  wooden  tray  of  tobacco,  and  shout- 
ing, "  Sigari  !  sigari  dolci  !  sigari  scelti  !  "  at  the  top  of 
their  lungs ;  the  nocellaro  also  cries  sadly  out  his  dry 
chestnuts  and  pumpkin-seeds.  The  shops  are  all  closed, 
and  the  shopkeepers  and  clerks  saunter  up  and  down  the 
streets,  dressed  better  than  the  same  class  anywhere  else 
in  the  world,  —  looking  spick-and-span,  as  if  they  had  just 
come  out  of  a  bandbox,  and  nearly  all  of  them  carrying  a 
little  cane.  One  cannot  but  be  struck  by  the  difference 
in  this  respect  between  the  Romans  on  a  festa-day  in  the 
Corso  and  the  Parisians  during  a  fete  in  the  Champs  Ely- 
se'es,  —  the  former  are  so  much  better  dressed,  and  so 
much  happier,  gayer,  and  handsomer. 

During  the  morning  the  Pope  celebrates  High  Mass  at 
San  Pietro,  and  thousands  of  spectators  are  there,  —  some 
from  curiosity,  some  from  piety.  Few,  however,  of  the 
Roman  families  go  there  to-day ;  —  they  perform  their 
religious  services  in  their  private  chapel  or  in  some  minor 
church ;  for  the  crowd  of  foreigners  spoils  St.  Peter's  for 
prayer.  At  the  elevation  of  the  Host,  the  guards,  who  line 
the  nave,  drop  to  their  knees,  their  side-arms  ringing  on 
the  pavement,  —  the  vast  crowd  bends,  —  and  a  swell  of 
trumpets  sounds  through  the  dome.  Nothing  can  be  more 
impressive  than  this  moment  in  St.  Peter's.  Then  the  choir 
from  its  gilt  cage  resumes  its  chant,  the  high  falsetti  of  the 
soprani  soaring  over  the  rest,  and  interrupted  now  and 


CHRISTMAS— TORONE  AND  PAN   GIALLO.     73 

then  by  the  clear  musical  voice  of  the  Pope.  —  until  at 
last  he  is  borne  aloft  in  his  Papal  chair  on  the  shoulders 
of  his  attendants,  crowned  with  the  triple  crown,  between 
the  high,  white,  waving  fans  ;  all  the  cardinals,  monsig- 
nori,  canonici,  officials,  priests,  and  guards  going  before 
him  in  splendid  procession.  The  Pope  shuts  his  eyes, 
from  giddiness  and  from  fasting,  —  for  he  has  eaten  noth- 
ing for  twenty-four  hours,  and  the  swaying  motion  of  the 
chair  makes  him  dizzy  and  sick.  But  he  waves  at  intei'- 
vals  his  three  fingers  to  bless  the  crowd  that  kneel  or  bend 
before  him,  and  then  goes  home  to  the  Vatican  to  dine 
with  a  clean  conscience  and,  let  us  hope,  with  a  good 
appetite. 

It  is  the  custom  in  Rome  at  the  great  festas,  of  which 
Christmas  is  one  of  the  principal  ones,  for  each  parish  to 
send  round  the  sacrament  to  all  its  sick  ;  and  during  these 
days  a  procession  of  priests  and  attendants  may  be  seen, 
preceded  by  their  cross  and  banner,  bearing  the  holy 
wafer  to  the  various  houses.  As  they  march  along  they 
make  the  streets  resound  with  the  psalm  they  sing.  Every- 
body lifts  his  hat  as  they  pass,  and  many  among  the  lower 
classes  kneel  upon  the  pavement.  Frequently  the  proces- 
sion is  followed  by  a  rout  of  men,  women,  and  children, 
who  join  in  the  chanting  and  responses,  pausing  with  the 
priest  before  the  door  of  the  sick  person,  and  accompanying 
it  as  it  moves  from  house  to  house. 

At  Christmas,  all  the  Roman  world  which  has  a  baiocco 
in  its  pocket  eats  torone  and  pan  giallo.  The  shops  of  the 
pastry-cooks  and  confectioners  are  filled  with  them,  moun- 
tains of  them  encumber  the  counters,  and  for  days  before 
Christmas  crowds  of  purchasers  throng  to  buy  them. 
Torone  is  a  sort  of  hard  candy,  made  of  honey  and  al- 
monds, and  crusted  over  with  crystallized  sugar  ;  or,  in 
other  words,  it  is  a  nuga  with  a  sweet  frieze  coat ;  —  but 
nuga,  is  a  trifle  to  it  for  consistency.  Pan  giallo  is  per- 
haps so  called  quasi  lucus,  it  being  neither  bread  nor  yel- 
low. I  know  no  way  of  giving  a  clearer  notion  of  it,  than 
by  saying  that  its  father  is  almond-candy,  and  its  mother 
a  plum-pudding.  It  partakes  of  the  qualities  of  both  its 
parents.  From  its  mother  it  inherits  plums  and  citron, 


74  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

while  its  father  bestows  upon  it  almonds  and  consistency. 
In  hardness  of  character  it  is  half-way  between  the  two, 
having  neither  the  maternal  tenderness  on  the  one  hand, 
nor  the  paternal  stoniness  on  the  other.  One  does  not 
break  one's  teeth  on  it  as  over  the  torone,  which  is  only 
to  be  cajoled  into  masticability  by  prolonged  suction,  and 
often  not  then  ;  but  the  teeth  sink  into  it  as  the  wagoner's 
wheels  into  clayey  mire,  and  every  now  and  then  receive  a 
shock,  as  from  sunken  rocks,  from  the  raisin  stones,  in- 
durated almonds,  pistachio-nuts,  and  pine-seeds,  which 
startle  the  ignorant  and  innocent  eater  with  frightful 
doubts.  I  carried  away  one  tooth  this  year  over  my  first 
piece  ;  but  it  was  a  tooth  which  had  been  considerably  in- 
debted to  California,  and  I  have  forgiven  the  pan  giaUo. 
My  friend  the  Conte  Cignale,  who  partook  at  the  same 
time  of  torone,  having  incautiously  put  a  large  lump  into 
his  mouth,  found  himself  compromised  thereby  to  such  an 
extent  as  to  be  at  once  reduced  to  silence  and  retirement 
behind  his  pocket-handkerchief.  An  unfortunate  jest, 
however,  reduced  him  to  extremities ;  and,  after  a  vehe- 
ment struggle  for  politeness,  he  was  forced  to  open  the 
window  and  give  his  torone  to  the  pavement  —  and  the 
little  boys,  perhaps.  Chi  sa  ?  But  despite  these  dangers 
and  difficulties,  all  the  world  at  Rome  eats  pan  giallo  and 
torone  at  Christmas  ;  and  a  Christmas  without  them  would 
be  an  egg  without  salt.  They  are  at  once  a  penance  and  a 
pleasure.  Not  content  with  the  pan  giallo,  the  Romans 
also  import  the  pan  forte  di  Siena,  which  is  a  blood-cousin 
of  the  former,  and  suffers  almost  nothing  from  time  and 
age. 

On  Christmas  and  New  Year's  clay  all  the  servants  of 
your  friends  present  themselves  at  your  door  to  wish  you 
a  u  buonafesta"  or  a  "  buon  capo  d"  anno."  This  generous 
expression  of  good  feeling  is,  however,  expected  to  be 
responded  to  by  a  more  substantial  expression  on  your 
part,  in  the  shape  of  four  or  five  pauls,  so  that  one  pecul- 
iarly feels  the  value  of  a  large  visiting-list  of  acquaint- 
ances at  this  season.  To  such  an  extent  is  this  practice 
carried,  that  in  the  houses  of  the  cardinals  and  princes 
places  are  sought  by  servants  merely  for  the  vails  of  the 


CHRISTMAS  AND  NEW   YEAR.  75 

festas,  no  other  wages  being  demanded.  Especially  is  this 
the  case  with  the  higher  dignitaries  of  the  Church,  whose 
maestro  di  casa,  in  hiring  domestics,  takes  pains  to  point 
out  to  them  the  advantages  of  their  situation  in  this  re- 
spect. Lest  the  servants  should  not  be  aware  of  all  these 
advantages,  the  times  when  such  requisitions  may  be 
gracefully  made  and  the  sums  which  may  be  levied  are 
carefully  indicated,  —  not  by  the  cardinal  in  person,  of 
course,  but  by  his  underlings  ;  and  many  of  the  fellows 
who  carry  the  umbrella  and  cling  to  the  back  of  the  car- 
dinal's coach,  covered  with  shabby  gold  lace  and  carpet- 
collars,  and  looking  like  great  beetles,  are  really  paid  by 
everybody  rather  than  the  master  they  serve.  But  this  is 
not  confined  to  the  Eminenze,  many  of  whom  are,  I  dare 
say,  wholly  ignorant  that  such  practices  exist.  The  ser- 
vants of  the  embassies  and  all  the  noble  houses  also  make 
the  circuit  of  the  principal  names  on  the  visiting-list,  at 
stated  occasions,  with  good  wishes  for  the  family.  If  one 
rebel,  little  care  will  be  taken  that  letters,  cards,  and  mes- 
sages arrive  promptly  at  their  destination  in  the  palaces  of 
their  padroni ;  so  it  is  a  universal  habit  to  thank  them  for 
their  politeness,  and  to  request  them  to  do  you  the  favor 
to  accept  a  piece  of  silver  in  order  to  purchase  a  bottle  of 
wine  and  drink  your  health.  I  never  knew  one  of  them 
refuse  ;  probably  they  would  not  consider  it  polite  to  do 
so.  It  is  curious  to  observe  the  care  with  which  at  the 
embassies  a  new  name  is  registered  by  the  servants,  who 
scream  it  from  anteroom  to  salon,  and  how  considerately  a 
deputation  waits  on  you  at  Christmas  and  New  Year,  or, 
indeed,  whenever  you  are  about  to  leave  Rome  to  take 
your  villeggiatura,  for  the  purpose  of  conveying  to  you 
the  good  wishes  of  the  season  or  of  invoking  for  you  a 
"  buon  viaygio."  One  young  Roman,  a  teacher  of  lan- 
guages, told  me  that  it  cost  him  annually  some  twenty 
scudi  or  more  to  convey  to  the  servants  of  his  pupils  and 
others  his  dee])  sense  of  the  honor  they  did  him  in  inquir- 
ing for  his  health  at  stated  times.  But  this  is  a  rare  case, 
and  owing,  probably,  to  his  peculiar  position.  A  physician 
in  Rome,  whom  I  had  occasion  to  call  in  for  a  slight  ill- 
ness, took  an  opportunity  on  his  first  visit  to  put  a  very 


76  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

considerable  buona  mano  into  the  hands  of  my  servant,  in 
order  to  secure  future  calls.  I  cannot,  however,  say  that 
this  is  customary :  on  the  contrary,  it  is  the  only  case  I 
know,  though  I  have  had  other  Roman  physicians  ;  and 
this  man  was  in  his  habits  and  practice  peculiarly  un- 
Roman.  I  do  not  believe  it,  therefore,  to  be  a  Roman 
trait.  On  the  other  hand,  I  must  say,  for  my  servant's 
credit,  that  he  told  me  the  fact  with  a  shrug,  and  added, 
that  he  could  not,  after  all,  recommend  the  gentleman 
as  a  physician,  though  I  was  padrone,  of  course,  to  do  as 
I  liked. 

On  Christmas  Eve,  a  Presepio  is  exhibited  in  several  of 
the  churches.  The  most  splendid  is  that  of  the  Ara  Coeli, 
where  the  miraculous  Bambino  is  kept.  It  lasts  from 
Christmas  to  Twelfth-Night,  during  which  period  crowds 
of  people  flock  to  see  it ;  and  it  well  repays  a  visit.  The 
simple  meaning  of  the  term  Presepio  is  a  manger,  but  it 
is  also  used  in  the  Church  to  signify  a  representation  of 
the  birth  of  Christ.  In  the  Ara  Coeli  the  whole  of  one 
of  the  side-chapels  is  devoted  to  this  exhibition.  In  the 
foreground  is  a  grotto,  in  which  is  seated  the  Virgin  Mary, 
with  Joseph  at  her  side,  and  the  miraculous  Bambino  in 
her  lap.  Immediately  behind  are  an  ass  and  an  ox.  On 
one  side  kneel  the  shepherds  and  kings  in  adoration  ;  and 
above,  God  the  Father  is  seen  surrounded  by  clouds  of 
cherubs  and  angels  playing  on  instruments,  as  in  the  early 
pictures  of  Raphael.  In  the  background  is  a  scenic  repre- 
sentation of  a  pastoral  landscape,  on  which  all  the  skill  of 
the  scene-painter  is  expended.  Shepherds  guard  their 
flocks  far  away,  reposing  under  palm-trees  or  standing  on 
green  slopes  which  glow  in  the  sunshine.  The  distances 
and  perspective  are  admirable.  In  the  middle  ground  is 
a  crystal  fountain  of  glass,  near  which  sheep,  preternatu- 
rally  white,  and  made  of  real  wool  and  cotton-wool,  are 
feeding,  tended  by  figures  of  shepherds  carved  in  wood. 
Still  nearer  come  women  bearing  great  baskets  of  real 
oranges  and  other  fruits  on  their  heads.  All  the  nearer 
figures  are  full-size,  carved  in  wood,  painted,  and  dressed 
in  appropriate  robes.  The  miraculous  Bambino  is  swad- 
dled in  a  white  dress,  which  is  crusted  over  with  magnifi- 


CHRISTMAS  AND  TWELFTH-NIGHT.         77 

cent  diamonds,  emeralds,  and  rubies.  The  Virgin  also 
wears  in  her  ears  superb  diamond  pendants.  Joseph  has 
none  ;  but  he  is  not  a  person  peculiarly  respected  in  the  f 
Church.  As  far  as  the  Virgin  and  Child  are  concerned, 
they  are  so  richly  dressed  that  the  presents  of  the  kings 
and  wise  men  seem  rather  supererogatory,  —  like  carrying 
coals  to  Newcastle,  —  unless,  indeed,  Joseph  come  in  for  a 
share,  as  it  is  to  be  hoped  he  does.  The  general  effect  of 
this  scenic  show  is  admirable,  and  crowds  flock  to  it  and 
press  about  it  all  day  long.  Mothers  and  fathers  are  lift- 
ing their  little  children  as  high  as  they  can,  and  until  their 
arms  are  ready  to  break  ;  little  maids  are  pushing,  whis- 
pering, and  staring  in  great  delight ;  peasants  are  gaping 
at  it  with  a  mute  wonderment  of  admiration  and  devotion  ; 
and  Englishmen  are  discussing  loudly  the  value  of  the 
jewels,  and  wanting  to  know,  by  Jove,  whether  those  in 
the  crown  can  be  real. 

While  this  is  taking  place  on  one  side  of  the  church,  on 
the  other  is  a  very  different  and  quite  as  singular  an  exhi- 
bition. Around  one  of  the  antique  columns  of  this  basil- 
ica —  which  once  beheld  the  splendors  and  crimes  of  the 
Caesars'  palace  —  a  staging  is  erected,  from  which  little 
maidens  are  reciting,  with  every  kind  of  pretty  gesticula- 
tion, sermons,  dialogues,  and  little  speeches,  in  explana- 
tion of  the  Presepio  opposite.  Sometimes  two  of  them 
are  engaged  in  alternate  question  and  answer  about  the 
mysteries  of  the  Incarnation  and  the  Redemption.  Some- 
times the  recitation  is  a  piteous  description  of  the  agony 
of  the  Saviour  and  the  sufferings  of  the  Madonna,,  —  the 
greatest  stress  being,  however,  always  laid  upon  the  lat- 
ter. All  these  little  speeches  have  been  written  for  them 
by  their  priest  or  some  religious  friend,  committed  to 
memory,  and  practised  with  the  appropriate  gestures  over 
and  over  again  at  home.  Their  little  piping  voices  are 
sometimes  guilty  of  such  comic  breaks  and  changes,  that 
the  crowd  about  them  rustles  into  a  murmurous  laughter. 
Sometimes,  also,  one  of  the  very  little  preachers  has  an 
obstinate  fit,  pouts,  shakes  her  shoulders,  and  refuses  to 
go  on  with  her  part ;  another,  however,  always  stands 
ready  on  the  platform  to  supply  the  vacancy,  until  friends 


78  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

have  coaxed,  reasoned,  or  threatened  the  little  pouter  into 
obedience.  These  children  are  often  very  beautiful  and 
graceful,  and  their  comical  little  gestures  and  intonations, 
their  clasping  of  hands  and  rolling  up  of  eyes,  have  a 
very  amusing  and  interesting  effect.  The  last  time  I  was 
there  I  was  sorry  to  see  that  the  French  costume  had  be- 
gun to  make  its  appearance.  Instead  of  the  handsome 
Roman  head,  with  its  dark,  shining,  braided  hair,  which  is 
so  elegant  when  uncovered,  I  saw  on  two  of  the  children 
the  deforming  bonnet  which  could  have  been  invented 
only  to  conceal  a  defect,  and  which  is  never  endurable, 
unless  it  be  perfectly  fresh,  delicate,  and  costly.  Nothing 
is  so  vulgar  as  a  shabby  bonnet.  Yet  the  Romans,  despite 
their  dislike  of  the  French,  are  beginning  to  wear  it.  Ten 
years  ago  it  did  not  exist  here  among  the  common  people. 
I  know  not  why  it  is  that  the  three  ugliest  pieces  of  cos- 
tume ever  invented,  the  dress-coat,  the  trousers,  and  the 
bonnet,  all  of  which  we  owe  to  the  French,  have  been  ac- 
cepted all  over  Europe,  to  the  exclusion  of  every  national 
costume.  Certainly  it  is  not  because  they  are  either  use- 
ful, elegant,  or  commodious. 

If  one  visit  the  Ara  Coeli  during  the  afternoon  of  one 
of  these  festas,  the  scene  is  very  striking.  The  flight  of 
one  hundred  and  twenty-four  steps  is  then  thronged  by 
merchants  of  Madonna  wares,  who  spread  them  out  over 
the  steps  and  hang  them  against  the  walls  and  balustrades. 
Here  are  to  be  seen  all  sorts  of  curious  little  colored 
prints  of  the  Madonna  and  Child  of  the  most  ordinary 
quality,  little  bags,  pewter  medals,  and  crosses  stamped 
with  the  same  figures  and  to  be  worn  on  the  neck  —  all 
offered  at  once  for  the  sum  of  one  baiocco.  Here  also  are 
framed  pictures  of  the  Saints,  of  the  Nativity,  and,  in  a 
word,  of  all  sorts  of  religious  subjects  appertaining  to  the 
season.  Little  wax  dolls,  clad  in  cotton-wool  to  represent 
the  Saviour,  and  sheep  made  of  the  same  materials,  are 
also  sold  by  the  basketful.  Children  and  women  are  busy 
buying  them,  and  there  is  a  deafening  roar  all  up  and 
down  the  steps,  of  "  Mezzo  baiocco,  bello  colorito,  mezzo 
baiocco,  la  Santissima  Concezione  Incoronata,"  —  "  Dia- 
TW  Romano,  Lunario  Romano  Nuovo"  —  "  Ritratto  co> 


CHRISTMAS— ARA   COELL  79 

lorito,  medaglia  e  quadmccio,  tin  baiocco  tutti,  un  baiocco 
tutti"  —  "  Bambinelli  di  cera,  un  baiocco."  l  None  of 
the  prices  are  higher  than  one  baiocco,  except  to  strangers, 
—  and  generally  several  articles  are  held  up  together, 
enumerated,  and  proffered  with  aloud  voice  for  this  sum. 
Meanwhile  men,  women,  children,  priests,  beggars,  sol- 
diers, and  peasants  are  crowding  up  and  down,  and  we 
crowd  with  them. 

At  last,  ascending,  we  reach  the  door  with  faces  to- 
wards the  west.  We  lift  the  great  leathern  curtain  and 
push  into  the  church.  A  faint  perfume  of  incense  salutes 
the  nostrils.  The  golden  sunset  bursts  in  as  the  curtain 
sways  forward,  illuminates  the  mosaic  floor,  catches  on 
the  rich  golden  ceiling,  and  flashes  here  and  there  over 
the  crowd  on  some  brilliant  costume  or  shaven  head.  All 
sorts  of  people  are  thronging  there  —  some  kneeling  be- 
fore the  shrine  of  the  Madonna,  which  gleams  with  its 
hundreds  of  silver  votive  hearts,  legs,  and  arms ;  some 
listening  to  the  preaching ;  some  crowding  round  the 
chapel  of  the  Presepio.  Old  women,  haggard  and  wrin- 
kled, come  tottering  along  with  their  scaldini  of  coals, 
drop  down  on  their  knees  to  pray,  and,  as  you  pass,  inter- 
polate in  their  prayers  a  parenthesis  of  begging.  The 
church  is  not  architecturally  handsome ;  but  it  is  emi- 
nently picturesque,  with  its  relics  of  centuries,  its  mosaic 
pulpits  and  floor,  its  frescoes  of  Pinturicchio  and  Pesaro, 
its  antique  columns,  its  rich  golden  ceiling,  its  Gothic  mau- 
soleum to  the  Savelli,  and  its  mediaeval  tombs.  A  dim, 
dingy  look  is  over  all ;  but  it  is  the  dimness  of  faded 
splendor;  and  one  cannot  stand  there,  knowing  the  his- 
tory of  the  church,  its  great  antiquity,  and  the  various 
fortunes  it  has  known,  without  a  peculiar  sense  of  interest 
and  pleasure. 

It  was  here  that  Romulus,  in  the  gray  dawning  of 
Rome,  built  the  temple  of  Jupiter  Feretrius.  Here 
the  spolia  opima  were  deposited.  Here  the  trium- 

1  "A  half-frcHocco,  beautifully  colored,  — a  half-baiocco,  the  Holy 
Conception  Crowned."  "  Roman  Diary,  —  New  Roman  Almanac." 
"Colored  portrait,  medal,  and  little  picture, — one  baiocco,  all." 
"  Infants  in  wax,  one  baiocco." 


80  ROBA  Dl  ROMA. 

phal  processions  of  the  emperors  and  generals  ended. 
Heve  the  victors  paused  before  making  their  vows, 
until,  from  the  Mamertine  Prisons  below,  the  message 
came  to  announce  that  their  noblest  prisoner  and  vic- 
tim, while  the  clang  of  their  triumph  and  his  defeat  rose 
ringing  in  his  ears  as  the  procession  ascended  the  steps, 
had  expiated  with  death  the  crime  of  being  the  enemy  of 
Rome.  Up  the  steep  steps,  which  then  led  to  the  temple 
of  the  Capitoline  Jove,  here,  after  his  earliest  triumph, 
the  first  great  Caesar  climbed  upon  his  knees.  Here,  mur- 
dered at  their  base,  Rienzi,  "last  of  the  Rotnan  trib- 
unes," fell.  And,  if  the  tradition  of  the  Church  is  to  be 
trusted,  it  was  on  the  site  of  the  present  high  altar  that 
Augustus  erected  the  " Ara  primogenito  Dei"  to  com- 
memorate the  Delphic  prophecy  of  the  coming  of  our 
Saviour.  Standing  on  a  spot  so  thronged  with  memories, 
the  dullest  imagination  takes  fire.  The  forms  and  scenes 
of  the  past  rise  from  their  graves  and  pass  before  us,  and 
the  actual  and  visionary  are  mingled  together  in  strange 
poetic  confusion.  Truly,  as  Walpole  says,  "  our  memory 
sees  more  than  our  eyes  in  this  country." 

And  this  is  one  great  charm  of  Rome  —  that  it  ani- 
mates the  dead  figures  of  its  history.  On  the  spot  where 
they  lived  and  acted,  the  Caesars  change  from  the  mani- 
kins of  books  to  living  men ;  and  Virgil,  Horace,  and 
Cicero  grow  to  be  realities,  when  we  walk  down  the  Sa- 
cred Way  and  over  the  very  pavement  they  may  once  have 
trod.  The  conversations  "  De  Claris  Oratoribus  "  and  the 
"  Tusculan  Questions  "  seem  like  the  talk  of  the  last  gener 
ation,  as  we  wander  on  the  heights  of  Tusculum,  or  over 
the  grounds  of  that  charming  villa  on  the  banks  of  the 
Liris,  which  the  great  Roman  orator  so  graphically  de- 
scribes in  his  treatise  "  De  Legibus."  The  landscape  of 
Horace  has  not  changed.  Still  in  the  winter  you  may  see 
the  dazzling  peak  of  the  "  gelidus  Algidits"  and  "  ut  alta 
stet  nive  candidum  Soracte  ;  "  and  wandering  at  Tivoli  in 
the  summer,  you  quote  his  lines  :  — 

' '  Dorans  Albuneae  resonant  is, 
Et  prseceps  Anio,  et  Tiburni  lucus,  et  uda 
Mobilibus  pomaria  rivis," 


CHRISTMAS  — HISTORICAL  FIGURES.         81 

and  feel  they  are  as  true  and  fresh  as  if  they  were  written 
yesterday.  Could  one  better  his  compliment  to  any  Ro- 
man Lalage  of  to-day  than  to  call  her  "  dulce  ridentem  "  ? 
In  all  its  losses,  Rome  has  not  lost  the  sweet  smiling  of 
its  people.  Would  you  like  to  know  the  modern  rules  for 
agriculture  in  Rome,  read  the  "  Georgics ;  "  there  is  so 
little  to  alter,  that  it  is  not  worth  mentioning.  So,  too,  at 
Rome,  the  Emperors  become  as  familiar  as  the  Popes. 
AVho  does  not  know  the  curly-headed  Marcus  Aurelius, 
with  his  lifted  brow  and  projecting  eyes  —  from  the  full, 
round  beauty  of  his  youth  to  the  more  haggard  look  of 
his  latest  years  ?  Are  there  any  modern  portraits  more 
familiar  than  the  severe,  wedge-like  head  of  Augustus, 
with  his  sharp-cut  lips  and  nose,  —  or  the  dull  phiz  of 
Hadrian,  with  his  hair  combed  down  over  his  low  fore- 
head, —  or  the  vain,  perking  face  of  Lucius  Verus,  with 
his  thin  nose,  low  brow,  and  profusion  of  curls,  —  or  the 
brutal  bull  head  of  Caracalla,  —  or  the  bestial,  bloated 
features  of  Vitellius  ? 

These  men,  who  were  but  lay-figures  to  us  at  school, 
mere  pegs  of  names  to  hang  historic  robes  upon,  thus  in- 
terpreted by  the  living  history  of  their  portraits,  the  inci- 
dental illustrations  of  the  places  where  they  lived  and 
moved  and  died,  and  the  buildings  and  monuments  they 
erected,  become  like  the  men  of  yesterday.  Art  has 
made  them  our  contemporaries.  They  are  as  near  to  us 
as  Pius  VII.  and  Napoleon.  I  never  drive  out  of  the  old 
Nomentan  Gate  without  remembering  the  ghastly  flight  of 
Nero,  —  his  recognition  there  by  an  old  centurion,  —  his 
damp,  drear  hiding-place  underground,  where,  shuddering 
and  quoting  Greek,  he  waited  for  his  executioners,  —  and 
his  subsequent  miserable  and  cowardly  death,  as  narrated 
by  Dion  Cassius  and  Suetonius ;  and  it  seems  nearer  to 
me,  more  vivid,  and  more  actual,  than  the  death  of  Rossi 
in  the  court  of  the  Cancelleria.  I  never  drive  by  the 
Caesars'  palaces  without  recalling  the  ghastly  jest  of  Domi- 
tian,  who  sent  for  some  fifteen  of  the  Senators  at  dead  of 
night  and  commanded  their  presence ;  and  when  they, 
trembling  with  fear,  and  expecting  nothing  less  than  that 
their  heads  were  all  to  fall,  had  been  kept  waiting  for  an 


82  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

hour,  the  door  opened,  and  he,  nearly  naked,  appeared  with 
a  fiddle  in  his  hand,  and,  after  fiddling  and  dancing  to  his 
quaking  audience  for  an  hour,  dismissed  them  to  their 
homes  uninjured.  The  air  seems  to  keep  a  sort  of  spirit- 
ual scent  or  trail  of  these  old  deeds,  and  to  make  them 
more  real  here  than  elsewhere.  The  ghosts  of  history 
haunt  their  ancient  habitations.  Invisible  companions 
walk  with  us  through  the  silent,  deserted  streets  of  Pom- 
peii. Vague  voices  call  to  us  from  the  shattered  tombs 
along  the  Via  Appia ;  and  looking  out  over  the  blue  sea, 
through  the  columns  of  that  noble  villa,  lately  unearthed 
at  Ostia,  one  almost  seems  to  hear  the  robes  of  ancient 
senators  sweeping  along  its  rich  mosaic  floors.  The  Past 
hovers  like  a  subtle  aura  around  the  Present.  Places, 
as  well  as  persons,  have  lives  and  influences ;  touching  our 
natures  to  mysterious  issues.  Haunted  by  its  crimes,  op- 
pressed and  debilitated  by  the  fierce  excesses  of  its  empire, 
Rome,  silent,  grave,  and  meditative,  sighs  over  its  past, 
wrapped  in  the  penitent  robes  of  the  Church. 

Besides,  here  one  feels  that  the  modern  Romans  are 
only  the  children  of  their  ancient  fathers,  with  the  same 
characteristics,  • —  softened,  indeed,  and  worn  down  by 
time,  just  as  the  sharp  traits  of  the  old  marbles  have  worn 
away  ;  but  still  the  same  people  —  proud,  passionate,  lazy, 
jealous,  vindictive,  easy,  patient,  and  able.  The  Popes 
are  but  Church  pictures  of  the  Emperors  —  a  different 
robe,  but  the  same  nature  beneath.  Alexander  VI.  was 
but  a  second  Tiberius ;  Pius  VII.,  a  modern  Augustus. 
"When  I  speak  of  the  Roman  people,  I  do  not  mean  the 
class  of  hangers-on  upon  the  foreigners,  but  the  Traste- 
verini  and  the  inhabitants  of  the  provinces  and  mountains. 
No  one  can  go  through  the  Trastevere,  when  the  people 
are  roused,  without  feeling  that  they  are  the  same  as  those 
who  listened  to  Marcus  Antonius  and  Brutus,  when  the 
bier  of  Caesar  was  brought  into  the  streets,  —  and  as  those 
who  fought  with  the  Colonna  and  stabbed  Rienzi  at  the 
foot  of  the  Capitol  steps.  The  Ciceruacchio  of  1848  was 
but  an  ancient  Tribune  of  the  People,  in  the  primitive  sense 
of  that  title.  I  like,  too,  to  parallel  the  anecdote  of  Caius 
Marius,  when,  after  his  ruin,  he  concealed  himself  in  the 


CHRISTMAS  — THE   SANT1SSLMO   BAMBINO.    83 

marshes,  and  astonished  his  captors,  who  expected  to  find 
him  weak  of  heart,  by  the  magnificent  self-assertion  of  "  I 
am  Caius  Marius,"  with  the  story  which  is  told  of  Stefano 
Colonna.  One  day  at  Aries  he  fell  into  the  hands  of  his 
enemies,  and  they,  not  recognizing  him,  cried  out,  "  Who 
are  you  ?  "  "  Stefano  Colonna,  citizen  of  Rome,"  was  his 
dauntless  reply ;  and,  struck  by  his  heroic  bearing,  they 
suffered  him  to  go  free.  Again,  after  this  great  captain 
met  with  his  sad  reverses,  and,  deprived  of  all  his  posses- 
sions, fled  from  Rome,  an  attendant  asked  him,  "  What 
fortress  have  you  now  ?  "  He  placed  his  hand  on  his 
heart,  and  answered,  "  Eccola !  "  The  same  blood  evi- 
dently ran  in  the  veins  of  both  these  men  ;  and  well  might 
Petrarca  call  Colonna  "  a  phoenix  risen  from  the  ashes  of 
the  ancient  Romans." 

But,  somehow  or  other,  I  have  wandered  strangely  from 
my  subject.  I  beg  pardon  —  but  how  can  one  help  it  in 
Rome  ? 

The  Santissimo  Bambino  is  a  wooden  image,  carved,  as 
the  legend  goes,  from  a  tree  on  the  Mount  of  Olives,  by  a 
Franciscan  pilgrim,  and  painted  by  St.  Luke  while  the 
pilgrim  slept.  The  carving  of  this  figure  gives  us  by  no 
means  a  high  notion  of  the  skill  of  the  pilgrim  as  a  sculp- 
tor, and  the  painting  is  on  a  par  with  the  carving.  But 
whatever  be  its  merit  as  a  work  of  art,  the  Bambino  is, 
according  to  the  popular  belief,  invested  with  wonderful 
powers  in  curing  the  sick ;  and  his  practice  is  as  lucrative 
as  any  physician's  in  Rome.  His  aid  is  in  constant  requi- 
sition in  severe  cases,  and  certain  it  is  that  a  cure  not  un- 
f requently  follows  upon  his  visit ;  but  as  the  regular  phy- 
sicians always  cease  their  attendance  upon  his  entrance, 
and  blood-letting  and  calomel  are  consequently  intermitted, 
perhaps  the  cure  is  not  so  miraculous  as  it  might  at  first 
seem.  He  is  always  borne  in  state  to  his  patients  ;  and 
during  the  Triumvirate  of  1849,  the  Pope's  carriage  was 
given  to  him  and  his  attendants.  Ordinarily  he  goes  in  a 
great  tan-colored  coach,  outside  of  which  waves  a  vermilion 
flag,  while  within  are  two  Frati  minori ;  one  with  the 
stola,  and  the  other  with  a  lighted  torch.  As  he  passes 
through  the  streets  the  people  kneel  or  cross  themselves  ; 


84  ROBA   DI  ROMA. 

the  women  covering  their  head  with  their  apron  or  hand- 
kerchief, as  they  always  do  when  entering  a  consecrated 
place,  and  the  more  superstitious  crying  out,  "  Oh,  Santo 
Bambino,  give  us  thy  blessing !  oh,  Santo  Bambino,  cure 
our  diseases  !  lower  the  water  of  the  Tiber ;  heal  Lisa's 
leg ;  send  us  a  good  carnival ;  gives  us  a  winning  terno  in 
the  lottery ;  "  or  anything  else  they  want. 

I  was  assured  by  the  priest  who  exhibited  him  to  me  at 
the  church,  that,  on  one  occasion,  having  been  stolen  by 
some  irreverent  hand  from  his  ordinary  abiding-place  in 
one  of  the  side  chapels,  he  returned  alone,  by  himself,  at 
night,  to  console  his  guardians  and  to  resume  his  functions. 
Great  honors  are  paid  to  him.  He  wears  jewels  which  a 
Colonna  might  envy,  and  not  a  square  inch  of  his  body  is 
without  a  splendid  gem.  On  festival  occasions,  like  Christ- 
mas, he  bears  a  coronet  as  brilliant  as  the  triple  crown  of 
the  Pope,  and,  lying  in  the  Madonna's  arms  in  the  repre- 
sentation of  the  Nativity,  he  is  adored  by  the  people  until 
Epiphany.  Then,  after  the  performance  of  Mass,  a  pro- 
cession of  priests,  accompanied  by  a  band  of  music,  makes 
the  tour  of  the  church  and  proceeds  to  the  chapel  of  the 
Presepio,  where  the  bishop,  with  great  solemnity,  removes 
him  from  his  mother's  arms.  At  this  moment  the  music 
bursts  forth  into  a  triumphant  march,  a  jubilant  strain 
over  the  birth  of  Christ,  and  he  is  borne  through  the  doors 
of  the  church  to  the  great  steps.  There  the  bishop  ele- 
vates the  Holy  Bambino  before  the  crowds  who  throng  the 
steps,  and  they  fall  upon  their  knees.  This  is  thrice  re- 
peated, and  the  wonderful  image  is  then  conveyed  to  its 
original  chapel,  and  the  ceremony  is  over. 

It  is  curious  to  note  in  Rome  how  many  a  modern  su- 
perstition has  its  root  in  an  ancient  one,  and  how  tena- 
ciously customs  still  cling  to  their  old  localities.  On  the 
Capitoline  Hill  the  bronze  she-wolf  was  once  worshipped 1 

1  "Romuli  nutrix  lupa  honoribus  est  affecta  divinis,"  says  Lac- 
tantius,  De  Falsa  Religione,  lib.  i.  cap.  20,  p.  101,  edit.  var.  1660. 
According  to  Dionysius,  a  wolf  in  brass,  of  ancient  workmanship, 
was  in  the  temple  of  Romulus  in  the  Palatine  .Antiq.  Rom.  lib.  i.). 
Livy  also  speaks  of  one  as  standing  under  the  Ruminal  fig-tree 
(Hist.  lib.  x.  cap.  59).  Cicero  speaks  of  one  as  existing  on  the 
Capitol,  "  quern  inauratum  in  Capitolio  parvum  et  lactantem  uberi- 


CHRISTMAS  — LA  BEFANA.  85 

as  the  wooden  Bambino  is  now.  It  stood  in  the  Temple 
of  Romulus,  and  there  the  ancient  Romans  used  to  carry 
children  to  be  cured  of  their  diseases  by  touching  it.  On 
the  supposed  site  of  this  temple  now  stands  the  church  ded- 
icated to  St.  Theodoro,  or  Santo  Toto  as  he  is  called  in 
Rome.  Though  names  have  changed,  and  the  temple  has 
vanished,  and  church  after  church  has  here  decayed  and 
been  rebuilt,  the  old  superstition  remains,  and  the  common 
people  at  certain  periods  still  bring  their  sick  children  to 
Santo  Toto,  that  he  may  heal  them  with  his  touch. 

The  Eve  of  Epiphany,  or  Twelfth-Night,  is  to  the 
children  of  Rome  what  Christmas  Eve  is  to  us.  It  is 
then  that  the  Befana  (a  corruption,  undoubtedly,  of  Epi- 
fania)  comes  with  her  presents.  This  personage  is  neither 
merry  and  male,  like  Santa  Claus,  nor  beautiful  and 
childlike,  like  Christ-kindchen,  but  is  described  as  a  very 
tall,  dark  woman,  ugly,  and  rather  terrible,  "  (T  una  fisio- 
nomia  piuttosto  imponente"  who  comes  down  the  chim- 
ney, on  the  Eve  of  Epiphany,  armed  with  a  long  canna 
and  shaking  a  bell,  to  put  playthings  into  the  stockings  of 
the  good  children,  and  bags  of  ashes  into  those  of  the  bad. 
It  is  a  night  of  fearful  joy  to  all  the  little  ones.  When 
they  hear  her  bell  ring  they  shake  in  their  sheets  ;  for  the 
Befana  is  used  as  a  threat  to  the  wilful,  and  their  hope  is 
tempered  by  a  wholesome  apprehension ;  and  well  they 
may,  if  she  is  like  what  Berni  paints  her,  — 

' '  Ha  gli  occhi  rossi  ed  il  viso  f  uribondo, 
I  labbri  grossi,  e  par  la  Bef  ania. ' ' 

Benedetto  Buommattei,  in  an  amusing  Idyll,  gives  her, 

buslupinis  inhiantem  fuisse."  (In  Catilinam,  iii.  3) ;  see  also  Cicero, 
De  Divin.  ii.  20.  Dion  Cassius  also  speaks  of  the  same  wolf  on  the 
Capitol  (lib.  37) ;  see  also  Montfaucon,  Diarium  Italicum,  t.  i.  p. 
174,  to  the  same  effect.  Which  of  these  wolves  it  is  that  is  now 
preserved  in  the  museum  of  the  Capitol  has  afforded  a  "  very  pretty 
quarrel ' '  to  archaeologists.  Winckelmann  declares  it  to  have  been 
found  in  the  church  of  St.  Theodorus,  on  the  site,  or  close  by  the 
site,  of  the  Temple  of  Romulus,  and  therefore  the  wolf  described 
by  Dionysius;  but  the  authority  he  cites  (Faunus)  scarcely  bears 
him  out  in  this  assertion.  One  thing  seems  to  be  quite  clear,  that 
one  of  the  brazen  wolves  was  on  the  Capitol,  and  received  divine 
honors. 


86  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

however,  a  much  better  character   than  her  appearance 
would  seem  to  suggest : — 

"  Io  son  colei,  che  al  cominciar  dell'  erta 
Abito  del  Castalio  in  certe  grotte, 
Onde  non  parto  mai,  che  in  qnesta  notte. 
Avete  inteso  ancora, 
Donne  ?     Io  son  la  Bef  ana. 
Di  che  vi  spaurite  ? 
Che  credete,  ch'  io  sia 
Come  si  dice,  qualche  mala  cosa  ? 
Non  abbiate  paura,  moccicone, 
Ch'  io  non  f  o  mal  ne  a  bestia  ne  a  persone. 
Io  giovo  sempre  a  tutti,  e  piu  alle  Donne, 
Che  mi  per  sempre  amiche. 
Non  venne  qua  da  quelle  amene  baize 
Per  altro  che  per  empiervi  le  calze 
De'  miei  ricchi  presenti. 
So  pur,  che  voi  sapete  la  possanza 
Ch'  io  ho  sopra  i  mortali 
Sin  di  cangiar  il  sesso  e  la  figura. 
Per  questo  ognun  all'  opra  mia  ricorre, 
Uomini,  donne,  bestie  ed  animal  i." 

The  celebration  of  Epiphany  is  of  very  ancient  date, 
and  is  stated  by  Domenico  Manni,  who  has  written  a  little 
treatise  on  this  subject,  to  have  been  instituted  about  the 
year  350  by  Julius  1.  Previous  to  this  time,  it  seems 
not  to  have  been  a  separate  festival,  but  to  have  been 
mixed  up  with  other  festivals,  probably  of  pagan  origin. 
It  is  now  generally  supposed  only  to  celebrate  the  visit 
of  the  Magian  kings  to  the  cradle  of  Christ ;  but  the  office 
of  the  day  still  performed  in  the  Roman  Church  clearly 
proves  that  it  also  celebrates  the  Baptism  of  Christ  and 
the  first  miracle  of  changing  water  into  wine  at  the 
marriage  in  Cana.  —  "  Trttnis  miraculis  ornatnm  diem 
sanctum  colimus.  Hodie  stella  magos  duxit  ad  Prcese- 
pium  ;  hodie  vinum  ex  aqua  factum  est  ad  nuptias  ;  ho- 
die  in  Jordano  a  Johanne  Christiis  baptizari  voluit" 

It  is  curious  to  trace  in  the  Befana  of  Italy  and  in  the 
popular  superstitious  notions  and  usages  of  this  country  at 
Epiphany  the  distorted  reflections  not  only  of  the  Chris- 
tian history,  but  also  of  the  pagan  mythology  and  festivals 
which  took  place  at  this  time.  The  gifts  which  it  is  the 
universal  practice  of  Christendom  to  present  to  children  at 


CHRISTMAS  —  MYSTERIES.  87 

Christmas  or  Twelfth-Night,  are  but  symbols  of  the  treas- 
ures brought  to  the  infant  Christ  by  the  wise  men.  The 
baptism  has  left  its  trace  in  the  canna  of  St.  John,  which 
is  always  borne  by  the  Befana.  In  some  parts  of  Italy  it 
is  also  a  superstition  that  at  midnight  of  the  eve  of  Epiph- 
any sheep  have  the  power  of  speech  —  "  le  pecore  la  notte 
di  Befana  favellano."  Sant'  Epifanio,  who  lived  in  the 
fourth  century,  declares  that  in  his  time,  on  this  night  the 
water  of  a  certain  river  was  changed  into  wine.  And  it  is 
still  a  popular  superstition,  derived  undoubtedly  from  the 
miracle  at  Cana,  that  then  also  extraordinary  transforma- 
tions of  things  take  place  —  such  as  that  the  walls  are 
changed  into  cheese,  the  bed  sheets  into  a  kind  of  paste 
called  Lasagne,  and  water  into  exquisite  wine.  Mixed  up 
with  these,  also,  are  reminiscences  of  the  Murder  of  the 
Innocents  ;  for  on  this  night  it  is  said  that  the  Befana 
goes  wandering  about,  not  only  with  presents,  but  also 
to  stab  and  prick  the  bodies  of  bad  children.  The  best 
way  to  avoid  this  punishment  is  to  eat  beans,  which  form, 
therefore,  a  common  dish  on  Twelfth-Night ;  but  another 
mode  of  avoiding  these  persecutions  is  to  place  a  mortar  on 
the  body,  and  to  offer  up  for  good  luck  a  certain  prayer 
composed  expressly  for  this  occasion,  and  called  the  Ave- 
maria  della  Befana. 

It  is  curious,  too,  to  note  how  the  physiognomy  of  this  im- 
aginary character  varies  among  different  nations  and  under 
different  influences.  The  Christ-kindchen  of  Germany  is 
an  image  of  the  infant  Christ  himself.  The  Santa  Claus 
is  a  clumsier  impersonation,  in  which  the  figures  of  the 
ancient  Teutonic  legend  are  scarcely  hidden  under  the 
Christian  garb  of  the  Church ;  while  the  Befana  of  Italy 
is  a  bizarre  creature  made  up  of  fragments  and  spoils  from 
various  scriptural  figures.  In  Venice,  Girolamo  Tartarotti 
informs  us  that  this  figure  is  called  Rad6dese,  which  is 
probably  a  corruption  of  the  name  of  Herod,  or  Erode. 

As  far  back  as  the  twelfth  century,  mysteries  and  pia 
spectavula  were  given,  representing  the  visit  of  the  kings 
to  Christ,  and  the  flight  into  Egypt.  Galvano  della  Fi- 
amma,  the  Milanese  historian  tells  us  that  it  was  the  cus- 
tom in  Milan,  in  the  year  1326,  for  three  persons  crowned, 


88  ROBA   Dl  ROMA. 

dressed  as  kings,  mounted  on  large  horses,  and  followed 
by  a  great  concourse  of  people,  to  go  through  the  streets 
at  Epiphany,  with  a  golden  star  carried  before  them. 
This  procession  went  to  the  square  of  San  Lorenzo,  where 
was  seated  a  person  representing  King  Herod,  and  sur- 
rounded by  the  scribes  and  wise  men,  when  a  long  dialogue 
took  place  between  them.  In  other  places,  a  beautiful  girl 
was  put  upon  an  ass,  carrying  an  infant  in  her  arms,  and 
followed  by  an  old  man  on  foot,  which  was  intended,  of 
course,  to  represent  the  flight  into  Egypt.  In  later  times 
these  celebrations  were  travestied  by  the  Befana,  who  went 
through  the  streets  accompanied  by  persons  carrying  burn- 
ing brooms  or  sheaves  of  straw,  ringing  bells,  and  blowing 
horns  and  whistles  ;  and  even  to  the  present  day,  in  some 
places,  a  figure  stuffed  with  straw,  and  dressed  grotesquely, 
is  carried  in  procession  through  the  streets,  and  followed 
by  a  cheering  and  hooting  crowd. 

The  burning  broom  which  was  carried  in  the  procession 
of  the  Befana  was  not  without  significance  ;  for  according 
to  some  legend  she  is  said  to  have  been  an  old  woman,  who 
was  engaged  in  cleaning  the  house  when  the  three  kings 
passed  carrying  their  presents  to  the  infant  Christ.  She 
was  called  to  the  window  to  see  them  ;  but  being  too  intent 
on  the  worldly  matters  of  the  household,  she  declined  to 
intermit  her  sweeping,  saying,  "  I  will  see  them  as  they 
return."  Unfortunately  the  kings  did  not  return  by  the 
same  road,  and  the  old  woman  is  represented  as  waiting 
and  watching  for  them  eternally.  She  is,  in  fact,  a  sort  of 
female  Wandering  Jew,  who  never  lays  aside  her  broom. 

On  Epiphany  eve,  there  may  be  seen  in  many  of  the 
houses  and  shops  in  Rome  boys  disguised  as  women,  who 
with  blackened  faces,  fantastic  cap  on  their  heads,  a  long 
canna  in  one  hand,  and  a  lantern  in  the  other,  represent 
the  Befana.  At  their  feet  are  baskets  of  sweetmeats, 
apples  and  fruit,  and  hanging  from  their  necks  are  stock- 
ings filled  with  various  presents.  Some  of  these  contain 
fruit  and  toys  for  the  good  children,  and  are  accompanied 
with  letters  of  congratulation  and  good  wishes ;  others 
having  nothing  in  them  but  bags  of  ashes  for  the  bad 
children,  and  letters  containing  threats  and  reproofs. 


CHRISTMAS  — LA  BEFANA.  89 

But  the  great  festival  of  the  Befana  takes  place  in  Rome 
on  the  eve  of  Twelfth-Night,  in  the  Piazza  di  Sant' 
Eustachio,1  and  a  curious  spectacle  it  is.  The  Piazza 
itself  -(which  is  situated  in  the  centre  of  the  city,  just 
beyond  the  Pantheon),  and  all  the  adjacent  streets,  are 
lined  with  booths  covered  with  every  kind  of  plaything  for 
children.  Most  of  these  are  of  Roman  make,  very  rudely 
fashioned,  and  veiy  cheap  ;  but  for  those  who  have  longer 
purses  there  are  not  wanting  heaps  of  German  and  French 
toys.  These  booths  are  gayly  illuminated  with  rows  of 
candles  and  the  three-wick'd  brass  lamps  of  Rome ;  and, 
at  intervals,  painted  posts  are  set  into  the  pavement, 
crowned  with  pans  of  grease,  with  a  wisp  of  tow  for  wick, 
from  which  flames  blaze  and  flare  about.  Besides  these, 
numbers  of  torches  carried  about  by  hand  lend  a  wavering 
and  picturesque  light  to  the  scene.  By  eight  o'clock  in 
the  evening,  crowds  begin  to  fill  the  Piazza  and  the  ad- 
jacent streets.  Long  before  one  arrives,  the  squeak  of 
penny-trumpets  is  heard  at  intervals  ;  but  in  the  Piazza 
itself  the  mirth  is  wild  and  furious,  and  the  din  that 
salutes  one's  ears  oa  entering  is  almost  deafening.  The 
object  of  every  one  is  to  make  as  much  noise  as  possible, 
and  every  kind  of  instrument  for  this  purpose  is  sold  at 
the  booths.  There  are  drums  beating,  tambourines  thump- 
ing and  jingling,  pipes  squeaking,  watchmen's  rattles 
clacking,  penny-trumpets  and  tin  horns  slmlling,  the 
sharpest  whistles  shrieking  —  and  mingling  with  these  is 
heard  the  din  of  voices,  screams  of  laughter,  and  the  con- 
fused burr  and  buzz  of  a  great  crowd.  On  all  sides  you 
are  saluted  by  the  strangest  noises.  Instead  of  being 
spoken  to,  you  are  whistled  at.  Companies  of  people  are 
marching  together  in  platoons,  or  piercing  through  the 
crowd  in  long  files,  and  dancing  and  blowing  like  mad  on 
their  instruments.  It  is  a  perfect  witches'  sabbath.  Here, 
huge  dolls  dressed  as  Pulcinella  or  Pantaloon  are  borne 
about  for  sale,  —  or  over  the  heads  of  the  crowd  great 
black-faced  jumping-jacks,  lifted  on  a  stick,  twitch  them- 
selves in  fantastic  fits,  —  or,  what  is  more  Roman  than  all, 

1  This  festival  is  now  celebrated  in  the  Piazza  Agonale,  formerly 
called  the  Piazza  Navona. 


90  ROBA  DI  ROMA- 

long  poles  are  carried  about  strung  with  rings  of  hundreds 
of  ciambelle  (a  light  cake,  called  jumble  in  English),  which 
are  screamed  for  sale  at  a  mezzo  baiocco  each.  There  is 
no  alternative  but  to  get  a  drum,  whistle,  or  trumpet  — 
join  in  the  racket  —  and  fill  one's  pocket  with  toys  for  the 
children  and  absurd  presents  for  older  friends.  The  mo- 
ment you  are  once  in  for  it,  and  making  as  much  noise  as 
you  can,  you  begin  to  relish  the  jest.  The  toys  are  very 
odd  —  particularly  the  Roman  whistles;  some  of  these 
are  made  of  pewter,  with  a  little  wheel  that  whirls  as  you 
blow ;  others  are  of  terra-cotta,  very  rudely  modelled  into 
every  shape  of  bird,  beast,  and  human  deformity,  each 
with  a  whistle  in  its  head,  breast,  or  tail,  which  it  is  no 
joke  to  hear,  when  blown  close  to  your  ears  by  a  stout  pair 
of  lungs.  The  scene  is  extremely  picturesque.  Above, 
the  dark  vault  of  night,  with  its  far  stars,  the  blazing  and 
flaring  of  lights  below,  and  the  great,  dark  walls  of  the 
Sapienza  and  church  looking  grimly  down  upon  the  mirth. 
Every  where  in  the  crowd  are  the  glistening  helmets  of 
soldiers,  who  are  mixing  in  the  sport,  and  the  chapeaux 
of  white-strapped  gendarmes,  standing  at  intervals  to  keep 
the  peace.  At  about  half-past  eleven  o'clock  the  theatres 
are  emptied,  and  the  upper  classes  flock  to  the  Piazza.  I 
have  never  been  there  later  than  half-past  twelve,  but  the 
riotous  fun  still  continued  at  that  hour ;  and  for  a  week 
afterwards  the  squeak  of  whistles  may  be  heard  at  inter- 
vals in  the  streets. 

The  whole  month  of  December  was  formerly  dedicated 
to  Saturn,  and  was  given  up  to  the  wild  festivities  of  the 
Saturnalia,  of  which  Carnival  and  Twelfth-Night  retain 
many  striking  features.  The  Moccoletti,  for  instance,  is 
manifestly  a  reproduction  of  the  Saturnalian  Cerei ;  and 
the  ancient  custom  of  electing  a  mock  king  at  this  season 
is  still  a  characteristic  ceremony  of  Twelfth-Night.  Under 
Augustus,  the  Saturnalia  proper  only  occupied  three  days, 
the  17th,  18th,  and  19th  of  December  ;  but  two  days  were 
afterwards  added  under  the  name  of  the  Opalia ;  and, 
still  later,  the  Sigillaria  increased  the  number  of  days  to 
seven.  This  last  festival  received  its  name  from  the 
sigilla,  which  were  then  exposed  for  sale  and  given  as 


CHRISTMAS  — RETIREMENT  TO  CONVENTS.      91 

toys  to  children ;  and  these  sigilla  were  neither  more  nor 
less  than  little  earthenware  figures,  similar  to  those  which 
form  so  striking  a  peculiarity  in  the  modern  celebration  of 
Epiphany  in  the  Piazza  Sant'  Eustachio. 

The  custom  of  giving  and  receiving  presents  at  Epiphany 
is  by  nj>  means  confined  to  children.  It  is  universal,  ex- 
tending even  to  the  Pope  and  College  of  Cardinals,  and 
assuming  the  form  of  a  religious  and  symbolical  ceremony. 
On  Epiphany  morning,  the  Cardinal  Prodatorio,  who  is 
head  of  the  College  of  ninety-nine  apostolic  writers,  used, 
by  ancient  custom,  formally  to  present  the  members  of  the 
College  to  the  Pope,  upon  which  one  of  the  members,  after 
pronouncing  a  Latin  address,  placed  in  his  hands  a  Tribute, 
or  Befana  as  it  was  called,  consisting  of  a  hundred  ducats 
in  gold  placed  in  a  cup  or  chalice  of  silver  which  was 
valued  at  thirty-five  scudi.  This  chalice  was,  however, 
sometimes  of  gold,  and  together  with  the  ducats  made  up 
the  sum  of  two  hundred  scudi.  The  Pope  in  accepting  it 
made  a  reply  in  Latin,  and  graciously  allowed  the  writers 
to  kiss  his  foot.  This  ceremony  has  been  omitted  since 
the  year  1802 ;  but  the  Befana  tribute  of  the  value  of  two 
hundred  scudi  is  still  presented  to  the  Pope  by  the  Car- 
dinal Prodatorio  in  behalf  of  the  college  —  and  still  gra- 
ciously accepted. 

At  the  two  periods  of  Christmas  and  Easter,  the  young 
Roman  girls  take  their  first  communion.  The  former, 
however,  is  generally  preferred,  as  it  is  a  season  of  re-  * 
joicing  in  the  Church,  and  the  ceremonies  are  not  so  sad  \ 
as  at  Piaster.  In  entering  upon  this  religious  phase  of 
their  life,  it  is  their  custom  to  retire  to  a  convent  and  pass 
a  week  in  prayer  and  reciting  the  offices  of  the  Church. 
During  this  period,  no  friend,  not  even  their  parents,  is 
allowed  to  visit  them,  and  information  as  to  their  health 
and  condition  is  very  reluctantly  and  sparingly  given  at 
the  door.  In  case  of  illness,  the  physician  of  the  convent 
is  called ;  and  even  then  neither  parent  is  allowed  to  see 
them,  except,  perhaps,  in  very  severe  cases.  Of  course, 
during  their  stay  in  the  convent,  every  exertion  is  made 
by  the  sisters  to  render  a  monastic  life  agreeable,  and  to 
stimulate  tjie  religious  sensibilities  of  the  young  commnni- 


92  ROBA   DI  ROMA. 

cant.  The  pleasures  of  society  and  the  world  are  decried, 
and  the  charms  of  peace,  devotion,  and  spiritual  exercises 
eulogized,  until  sometimes,  the  excited  imagination  of  the 
communicant  leaves  her  no  rest,  before  she  has  returned 
to  the  convent,  and  taken  the  veil  as  a  nun.  The  happi- 
ness of  families  is  thus  sometimes  destroyed  ;  and  I  knew 
one  very  united  and  pleasant  Roman  family  which  in  this 
way  was  sadly  broken  up.  Two  of  three  sisters  were  so 
worked  upon  at  their  first  communion  that  the  prayers  of 
family  and  friends  proved  unavailing  to  retain  them  in 
their  home.  The  more  they  were  urged  to  remain,  the 
more  they  desired  to  go,  and  the  parents,  brothers,  and 
remaining  sister  were  forced  to  yield  a  most  reluctant 
consent.  They  retired  into  the  convent  and  became  nuns. 
It  was  almost  as  if  they  had  died.  From  that  time  for- 
ward, the  home  was  no  longer  a  home.  I  saw  them  when 
they  took  the  veil,  and  a  sadder  spectacle  was  not  easily 
to  be  seen.  The  girls  were  happy,  but  the  parents  and 
family  wretched,  and  the  parting  was  tearful  and  sad. 
They  do  not  seem  since  to  have  regretted  the  step  they 
then  took ;  but  regret  would  be  unavailing,  and  even  if 
they  felt  it,  they  could  scarcely  show  it.  The  occupation 
of  the  sisters  in  the  monastery  they  have  joined  is  prayers, 
the  offices  of  the  Church,  and,  I  believe,  a  little  instruction 
of  poor  children.  But  gossip  among  themselves,  of  the 
pettiest  kind,  must  make  up  for  the  want  of  wider  worldly 
interests.  In  such  limited  relations,  little  jealousies  en- 
gender great  hypocrisies ;  a  restricted  horizon  enlarges 
small  objects.  The  repressed  heart  and  introverted  mind, 
deprived  of  their  natural  scope,  consume  themselves  in 
self-consciousness,  and  duties  easily  degenerate  into  routine. 
We  are  not  all  in  all  to  ourselves ;  the  world  has  claims 
upon  us,  which  it  is  cowardice  to  shrink  from,  and  folly 
to  deny.  Self-forgetfulness  is  a  great  virtue,  and  selfish- 
ness a  great  vice.  After  all,  the  best  religious  service  is 
honest  labor.  Large  interests  keep  the  heart  sound  ;  and 
the  best  of  prayers  is  the  doing  of  a  good  act  with  a  pure 
purpose. 

"He  prayeth  best  who  loveth  best 

All  things,  both  great  and  small; 
For  the  dear  God  -who  loveth  us, 
He  made  and  loveth  all." 


LENT.  93 

CHAPTER  V. 

LENT. 

THE  gay  confusion  of  Carnival  is  over,  with  its  mad 
tossing  of  flowers  and  bonbons,  its  showering  of  confetti, 
its  brilliantly  draped  balconies  running  over  with  happy 
faces,  its  barbaric  races,  its  rows  of  joyous  contadine,  its 
quaint  masquerading,  and  all  the  glad  folly  of  its  Satur- 
nalia. For  Saturnalia  it  is,  in  most  respects  just  like  the 
festa  of  the  Ancient  Romans,  with  its  Saturni  septem 
dies,  its  uproar  of  "/o  Saturnalia!"  in  the  streets,  and 
all  its  mad  frolic.  In  one  point  it  materially  differs,  how- 
ever ;  for  on  the  ancient  festa  no  criminal  could  be  pun- 
ished ;  but  in  modern  times  it  is  this  gay  occasion  that  the 
government  selects  to  execute  (giustiziare  /)  any  poor 
wretch  who  may  have  been  condemned  to  death,  so  as  to 
strike  a  wholesome  terror  into  the  crowd !  1  But  all  is 
over  now.  The  last  moccoletti  are  extinguished,  that 
flashed  and  danced  like  myriads  of  fire-flies  from  win- 
dow and  balcony  and  over  the  heads  of  the  roaring  tide 
of  people  that  ebbed  and  flowed  in  hurrying  eddies  of 
wild  laughter  through  the  streets.  The  Corso  has  become 
sober  and  staid,  and  taken  in  its  draperies.  The  fun  is 
finished.  The  masked  balls,  with  their  belle  maschere, 
are  over.  The  theatres  are  all  closed.  Lent  has  come, 
bringing  its  season  of  sadness ;  and  the  gay  world  of 
strangers  is  flocking  down  to  Naples. 

Eh,  Signore  !  Finito  il  nostro  carnevale.  Adesso  e 
il  carnevale  dei  preti.  ("  Our  carnival  is  over,  and  that 
of  the  priests  has  come.")  All  thefmti  are  going  round 

1  Under  the  present  government  of  Italy,  there  are  no  longer  cap- 
ital punishments.  Sentences  of  death  are  indeed  pronounced  by  the 
courts,  but  no  execution  of  them  ever  takes  place,  unless  occasion- 
ally in  the  army  for  the  grossest  of  crimes  accompanied  by  no  ex- 
tenuating circumstances.  Under  the  Papal  government  sentences 
of  death  were  strictly  executed  with  the  guillotine  ;  and  were  not  a 
mere  form  as  at  present.  A  sentence  of  death  means  now  in  Italy 
imprisonment  for  life,  with  the  chance  of  evasion  or  pardon. 


94  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

to  every  Roman  family,  high  and  low,  from  the  prince  in 
his  palace  to  the  boy  in  the  caffe,  demanding  "  una  santa 
elemosina, — un  abbondante  santa  elemosina,  —  ma  ab- 
bondante," and  willingly  pocketing  any  sum,  from  a  half- 
baiocco  upwards.  The  parish  priest  is  now  making  his 
visits  in  every  ward  of  the  city,  to  register  the  names  of 
the  Catholics  in  all  the  houses,  so  as  to  insure  a  confession 
from  each  during  this  season  of  penance.  And  woe  to 
any  wight  who  fails  to  do  his  duty!  —  he  will  soon  be 
brought  to  his  marrow-bones.  His  name  will  be  pla- 
carded in  the  church,  and  he  will  be  punished  according 
to  circumstances,  —  perhaps  by  a  mortification  to  the 
pocket,  perhaps  by  the  penance  of  the  convent;  and  per- 
haps his  fate  will  be  worse,  if  he  be  obstinate.  So  nobody 
is  obstinate,  and  all  go  to  confession  like  good  Christians, 
and  confess  what  they  please,  for  the  sake  of  peace,  if  not 
of  absolution.  The  Francescani  march  more  solemnly  up 
and  down  the  alleys  of  their  cabbage-garden,  studiously, 
with  books  in  their  hands,  which  they  pretend  to  read ; 
now  and  then  taking  out  their  snuff-stained  bandanna  and 
measuring  it  from  corner  to  corner  in  search  of  a  feasible 
spot  for  its  appropriate  function  ;  they  are,  however,  really 
only  feeling  by  the  hem  for  the  inside,  for  an  Italian  looks 
upon  a  handkerchief  as  a  bag,  the  outside  of  which  is 
never  to  be  used,  so  that  he  may  safely  roll  it  up  again 
into  a  little  round  ball,  and  polish  off  his  nose  with  it,  be- 
fore returning  it  to  his  pocket.  Whatever  penance  they 
do  is  not  to  Father  Tiber  or  Santo  Acquedotto,  excepting 
by  internal  ablutions,  —  the  exterior  things  of  this  world 
being  ignored.  There  is  no  meat-eating  now,  save  on  cer- 
tain festivals,  when  a  supply  is  laid  in  for  the  week.  But 
opposites  cure  opposites  (contrary  to  the  homoeopathic 
rule),  and  their  inagro  makes  them  grasso.  Two  days  of 
festival,  however,  there  are  in  the  little  church  of  San 
Patrizio  and  Isidoro,  when  the  streets  are  covered  with 
sand,  and  sprigs  of  box  and  red  and  yellow  hangings 
flaunt  before  the  portico,  and  scores  of  young  boy-priests  . 
invade  their  garden,  and,  tucking  up  their  long  skirts,  run 
and  scream  among  the  cabbages ;  for  boyhood  is  an  irre- 
pressible thing,  even  under  the  extinguisher  of  a  priest's 
black  dress. 


LENT'— PEPPINO' S  CREDO.  95 

Daily  you  will  hear  the  tinkle  of  a  bell  and  the  chant 
of  high  child-voices  in  the  street,  and,  looking  out,  you 
will  see  two  little  boys  clad  in  some  refuse  of  the  Church's 
wardrobes,  one  of  whom  carries  a  crucifix  or  a  big  black 
cross,  while  the  other  rings  a  bell  and  chants  as  he  loiters 
along ;  now  stopping  to  chaff  with  other  boys  of  a  similar 
age,  —  nay,  even  at  times  laying  down  his  cross  to  dis- 
pute or  struggle  with  them, — and  now  renewing  the  ap- 
peal of  the  bell.  This  is  to  call  together  the  children  of 
the  parish  to  learn  their  Catechism,  or  to  exercise  them 
in  their  Latin  responses ;  and  these  latter  they  will  rat- 
tle off  generally  with  an  amazing  volubility,  and  for  the 
most  part  without  an  idea  of  what  they  mean. 

I  was  one  day  at  work  in  my  studio,  when  I  heard  the 
murmur  of  a  boy's  treble  in  the  next  room,  broken  in  upon 
by  sudden  explosions  of  laughter ;  then  recommencing, 
and  again  interrupted  in  the  same  way.  On  opening  the 
door  to  inquire  the  cause  of  this  merriment,  I  saw  my 
studio  boy  standing  in  the  centre  of  a  group  of  workmen, 
and  reciting  something  to  them.  "  Venga,  signore,"  they 
cried  out  to  me,  "  and  hear  Peppino  say  his  '  Credo.'  " 
Peppino  smiled,  and  was  quite  ready  to  repeat  his  lesson. 
Of  course  the  Credo  was  in  Latin,  not  one  word  of  which 
he  understood,  and  he  poured  it  forth  as  if  it  was  a  series 
of  long  cabalistic  phrases,  making,  as  he  hurried  through 
it,  such  ridiculous  mistakes  and  contortions  of  the  words, 
that  it  was  impossible  to  keep  one's  gravity,  and  I  freely 
joined  in  the  chorus  of  laughter  that  again  rang  through 
my  studio. 

Meantime  the  snow  is  gradually  disappearing  from 
Monte  Gennaro  and  the  Sabine  Mountains.  Picnic  par- 
ties are  spreading  their  tables  under  the  Pamfili  Doria 
pines,  and  drawing  St.  Peter's  from  the  old  wall  near  by 
the  ilex  avenue,  —  or  making  excursions  to  Frascati,  Tus- 
culum.  and  Albano,  —  or  spending  a  day  in  wandering 
among  the  ruins  of  the  Etruscan  city  of  Veii,  lost  to  the 
world  so  long  ago  that  even  the  site  of  it  was  unknown  to 
the  Caesars,  —  or  strolling  by  the  shore  at  Ostia,  or  under 
the  magnificent  pineta  at  Castel  Fusano,  whose  lofty  trees 
repeat,  as  in  a  dream,  the  sound  of  the  blue  Mediterra- 


96  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

nean  that  washes  the  coast  at  half  a  mile  distant.  There 
is  no  lack  of  places  that  Time  has  shattered  and  strewn 
with  relics,  leaving  Nature  to  festoon  her  ruins  and  heal 
her  wounds  with  tenderest  vines  and  flowers,  where  one 
may  spend  a  charming  day,  and  dream  of  the  old  times. 
Spring  has  come.  The  nightingales  already  begin  to 
bubble  into  song  under  the  Ludovisi  ilexes  1  and  in  the 
Barberini  Gardens.  Daisies  have  snowed  all  over  the 
Campagna,  —  periwinkles  star  the  grass,  —  crocuses  and 
anemones  impurple  the  spaces  between  the  rows  of 
springing  grain  along  the  still  brown  slopes.  At  every 
turn  in  the  streets  basketsful  of  sweet-scented  Parma  vio- 
lets are  offered  you  by  little  girls  and  boys ;  and  at  the 
corner  of  the  Condotti  and  Corso  is  a  splendid  show  of 
camellias,  set  into  beds  of  double  violets,  and  sold  for  a 
song.  Now  and  then  one  meets  huge  baskets  filled  with 
these  delicious  violets,  on  their  way  to  the  confectioners 
and  caffes,  where  they  will  be  made  into  sirup ;  for  the 
Italians  are  very  fond  of  this  bibita,  and  prize  it  not  only 
for  its  flavor  but  for  its  medicinal  qualities.  Violets  seem 
to  rain  over  the  villas  in  spring,  —  acres  are  purple  with 
them,  and  the  air  all  around  is  sweet  with  their  fragrance. 
Every  day,  scores  of  carriages  are  driving  about  the  Bor- 
ghese  grounds,  which  are  open  to  the  public,  and  hun- 
dreds of  children  are  running  about,  plucking  flowers  and 
playing  on  the  lovely  slopes  and  in  the  shadows  of  the  no- 
ble trees,  while  their  parents  stroll  at  a  distance  and  wait 
for  them  in  the  shady  avenues.  There,  too,  you  will  see 
the  young  priests  of  the  various  seminaries,  with  their 
robes  tucked  up,  playing  at  ball,  and  amusing  themselves 
at  various  sports.  At  the  Pamfili  Doria  villa,  at  times  the 
English  play  their  national  game  of  cricket,  on  the  flower- 
enamelled  green,  which  is  covered  with  the  most  wondrous 
anemones ;  and  there  is  a  matinee  of  friends  who  come 
to  chat  and  look  on.  This  game  is  rather  "  slow "  at 
Rome,  however,  and  does  not  rhyme  with  the  Campagna. 
The  Italians  lift  their  hands  and  wonder  what  there  is  in 

1  These  beautiful  gardens  have  now  disappeared,  and  its  delight- 
ful alleys  of  ilexes  haunted  by  nightingales  have  been  ruthlessly  cut 
down  to  make  room  for  new  streets  and  buildings. 


LENT —SPRING   OUTSIDE  THE   GATES.       97 

it  to  fascinate  the  English ;  and  the  English  in  turn  call 
them  a  lazy,  stupid  set,  hecause  they  do  not  admire  it. 
But  those  who  have  seen  pallone  will  not,  perhaps,  so 
much  wonder  at  the  Italians,  nor  condemn  them  for  not 
playing  their  own  game,  when  they  remember  that  the 
French  have  turned  them  out  of  their  only  amphitheatre 
adapted  for  it,  and  left  them  only  pazienza.1 

If  one  drives  out  at  any  of  the  gates  he  will  see  that 
spring  is  come.  The  hedges  are  putting  forth  their  leaves, 
the  almond-trees  are  in  full  blossom,  and  in  the  vineyards 
the  contadini  are  setting  cane-poles,  and  trimming  the 
vines  to  run  upon  them.  Here  and  there  along  the  slopes 
the  rude  antique  plough,  dragged  heavily  along  by  great 
gray  oxen,  turns  up  the  rich  loam,  that  needs  only  to  be 
tickled  to  laugh  out  in  flowers  and  grain.  Here  and  there, 
the  smoke  of  distant  bonfires,  burning  heaps  of  useless 
stubble,  shows  against  the  dreamy  purple  hills  like  the  pil- 
lar of  cloud  that  led  the  Israelites.  One  smells  the  sharp 
odor  of  these  fires  everywhere,  and  hears  them  crackle  in 
the  fields  :  — 

"  Atque  levem  stipulam  crepitantibus  urere  flammis." 

The  olive  orchards  have  been  already  blessed  by  the 
Church,  to  preserve  them  from  destruction  by  tempest  and 
lightning,  and  to  this  precaution  has  been  added  insurance 
against  hail  at  the  various  offices  ;  and  everywhere  on  the 
hillsides  farmers  may  be  seen  carefully  pruning  away  the 
dead  branches,  and  loosening  the  soil  about  their  "  old 
fantastic  roots." 

On  festa-days  the  wayside  osterias  (con  cucina)  are 
crowded  by  parties  who  come  out  to  sit  under  the  green 
arbors  of  vines,  drink  wine  grown  on  the  very  spot,  and 
regale  themselves  with  a  fry  of  eggs  and  chopped  sausages, 
or  a  slice  of  lamb,  and  enjoy  the  delicious  air  that  breathes 
from  the  mountains.  The  old  cardinals  descend  from  their 
gilded  carriages,  and,  accompanied  by  one  of  their  house- 

1  Since  the  French  left  Rome  (1876),  pallone  is  again  played  in 
the  Sf  eristerio,  of  which  they  were  robbed  by  the  French  engineers, 
and  now  (1886)  the  Sferisterio  itself  has  disappeared,  and  the  long 
wall  beyond,  with  its  alleys  of  oranges  that  glowed  above  and  filled 
the  air  with  perfume,  has  given  place  to  a  row  of  new  houses. 


98  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

hold  and  followed  by  their  ever-present  lackeys  in  harle- 
quin liveries,  totter  along  on  foot  with  swollen  ankles, 
lifting  their  broad  red  hats  to  the  passers-by  who  salute 
them,  and  pausing  constantly  in  their  discourse  to  enforce 
a  phrase  or  take  a  pinch  of  snuff.1  Files  of  scholars  from 
the  Propaganda  stream  along,  now  and  then,  two  by  two, 
their  leading  strings  swinging  behind  them,  and  in  their 
ranks  all  shades  of  physiognomy,  from  African  and 
Egyptian  to  Irish  and  American.  Youths  from  the  Eng- 
lish College,  and  Germans,  in  red,  go  by  in  companies.  All 
the  minor  schools,  too,  will  be  out,  —  little  boys,  in  black 
hats,  following  the  lead  of  their  priest-master,  (for  all 
masters  are  priests,)  orphan  girls  in  white,  convoyed  by 
Sisters  of  Charity,  and  the  deaf  and  dumb  with  their  mas- 
ters. Scores  of  ciociari,  also,  may  be  seen  in  faded  scarlets, 
with  their  wardrobes  of  wretched  clothes,  and  sometimes  a 
basket  with  a  baby  in  it  on  their  heads.  The  contadini 
who  have  been  to  Rome  to  be  hired  for  the  week  to  labor 
on  the  Campagna,  come  tramping  along,  one  of  them  often 
mounted  on  a  donkey,  and  followed  by  a  group  carrying 
their  implements  with  them  ;  while  hundreds  of  the  mid- 
dle classes,  husbands  and  wives  with  their  children,  and 
paini  and  paine  with  all  their  jewelry  on,  are  out  to  take 
their  holiday  stroll,  and  to  see  and  be  seen. 

Once  in  a  while  the  sadness  of  Lent  is  broken  by  a 
Church  festival,  when  all  the  fasters  eat  prodigiously,  and 
make  up  for  their  usual  Lenten  fare.  One  of  the  principal 
days  is  that  of  the  19th  of  March,  dedicated  to  San 
Giuseppe,  (the  most  ill-used  of  all  the  saints.)  when  the 
little  church  in  Capo  le  Case,  dedicated  to  him,  is  hung 
with  brilliant  draperies,  and  the  pious  flock  thither  in 
crowds  to  say  their  prayers.  The  great  curtain  is  swaying 
to  and  fro  constantly  as  they  come  and  go,  and  a  file  of 
beggars  is  on  the  steps  to  relieve  you  of  baiocchi.  Beside 
them  stands  a  fellow  who  sells  a  print  of  the  Angel  appear- 
ing to  San  Giuseppe  in  a  dream,  and  warning  him  against 
.the  sin  of  jealousy.  Four  curious  lines  beneath  the  print 
thus  explain  it :  — 

1  There  are  no  more  gilded  carriages  (1886)  and  harlequin  liv- 
eried lackeys  mounted  behind  them,  or  accompanying  the  cardinals 
in  their  walks.  This  is  of  the  past. 


LENT  —  FRITTELLE  DI  S.  GIUSEPPE.          99 

"  Qual  sinistro  pensier  1'  alma  ti  scuote  ? 
Se  il  sen  fecondo  di  Maria  tu  vedi, 
Giuseppe,  non  terner ;   calmati,  e  credi 
Ch'  opra  e  sol  di  colui  che  tutto  puote." 

Whether  Joseph  is  satisfied  or  not  with  this  explanation, 
it  would  be  difficult  to  determine  from  his  expression.  He 
looks  rather  haggard  and  bored  than  persuaded,  and  cer- 
tainly has  not  that  cheerful  acquiescence  of  countenance 
which  one  is  taught  to  expect. 

During  all  Lent,  a  sort  of  bun  called  maritozze,  which  is 
filled  with  the  edible  kernels  of  the  pine-cone,  made  light 
with  oil,  and  thinly  crusted  with  sugar,  is  eaten  by  the 
faithful,  —  and  a  very  good  Catholic  "  institution  "  it  is. 
But  in  the  festival  days  of  San  Giuseppe,  gayly  ornamented 
booths  are  built  at  the  corner  of  many  of  the  streets, 
especially  near  the  church  in  Capo  le  Case,  in  the  Borgo, 
and  at  Sant'  Eustachio,  which  are  adorned  with  great  green 
branches  as  large  as  young  trees,  and  hung  with  red  and 
gold  draperies,  where  the  " Frittelle  di  San  Giuseppe'" 
are  fried  in  huge  caldrons  of  boiling  oil  and  lard,  and 
served  out  to  the  common  people.  These  fritters,  which 
are  a  delicate  batter  mixed  sometimes  with  rice,  are  eaten 
by  all  good  Catholics,  though  one  need  not  be  a  Catholic 
to  find  them  excellent  eating.  In  front  of  the  principal 
booths  are  swung  "  Sonetti "  in  praise  of  the  Saint,  of  the 
cook,  and  of  the  doughnuts  — some  of  them  declaring 
that  Mercury  has  already  descended  from  Olympus  at  the 
command  of  the  gods  to  secure  a  large  supply  of  the  frit- 
ters, and  praying  all  believers  to  make  haste,  or  there  will 
be  no  more  left.1  The  latter  alternative  seems  little  prob- 

1  Here  is  one  of  these  sonnets,  literally  copied  from  a  booth  in 
the  Piazza  BarLerini  :  — 

"  Cerere,  dea  della  Sicania  Vasta, 
Grano  me  die  che  f§  buona  farina, 
L'  acqua  con  cui  si  lavoro  tal  pasta 
Zampill6  dalla  rupe  Gabbalina  — 
La  Dea,  che  ha  1'  elmo  in  testa,  in  mano  1'  asta 
L'  oglio  delle  sue  olive  mi  destina  — 
Vulcano,  che  con  i  Ciclopi  contrasta 
Fuoco  mi  die  della  siia  fucina  — 
Ercole  mi  dest6  forza  e  vigore  — 
Ingegno  ed  arte  ne  desto  maniera 
Por  superare  ogn'  altro  f riggitore  — 
Giove  tonante  di  giu  Etra  impera 
Mi  sped'i  Mercuric  ambasciatore 
Che  vuole  le  mie  frittelle  innanzi  sera." 


100  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

able  when  one  sees  the  quantity  of  provision  laid  in  by 
the  venders.  Their  prayer,  however,  is  heeded  by  all ; 
and  a  gay  scene  enough  it  is,  —  especially  at  night,  when 
the  great  cups  filled  with  lard  are  lighted,  and  the  shadows 
dance  on  the  crowd,  and  the  light  flashes  on  the  tinsel- 
covered  festoons  that  sway  with  the  wind,  and  illuminates 
the  booth,  while  the  smoke  rises  from  the  great  caldrons 
which  flank  it  on  either  side,  and  the  cooks,  all  in  white, 
ladle  out  the  dripping  fritters  into  large  polished  platters, 
and  laugh  and  joke,  and  laud  their  work,  and  shout  at  the 
top  of  their  lungs,  "  Ecco  le  belle,  ma  belle  frittelle  !  "  For 
weeks  this  frying  continues  in  the  streets ;  but  after  the 
day  of  San  Giuseppe,  not  only  the  sacred  fritters  are  made, 
but  thousands  of  minute  fishes,  fragments  of  cauliflower, 
broccoli,  cabbage,  and  artichokes  go  into  the  hissing  oil,  and 
are  heaped  upon 'the  platters  and  vases.  For  all  sorts  of 
fries  the  Romans  are  justly  celebrated.  The  sweet  olive- 
oil,  which  takes  the  place  of  our  butter  and  lard,  makes  the 
fry  light,  delicate,  and  of  a  beautiful  golden  color ;  and 
spread  upon  the  snowy  tables  of  these  booths,  their  odor  is 
so  appetizing  and  their  look  so  inviting,  that  I  have  often 
been  tempted  to  join  the  crowds  who  fill  their  plates  and 
often  their  pocket-handkerchiefs  (con  rispetto)  with  these 
golden  fry,  "fritti  dorati,"  as  they  are  called,  and  thus 
do  honor  to  the  Saint,  and  comfort  their  stomachs  with 
holy  food,  which  quells  the  devil  of  hunger  within. 

This  festival  of  San  Giuseppe,  which  takes  place  on  the 
19th  of  March,  bears  a  curious  resemblance  to  the  Libera- 
lia  of  the  ancient  Romans,  a  festival  in  honor  of  Bacchus, 
which  was  celebrated  every  year  on  the  17th  of  March, 
when  priests  and  priestesses,  adorned  with  garlands  of 
ivy,  carried  through  the  city  wine,  honey,  cakes,  and  sweet- 
meats, together  with  a  portable  altar,  in  the  middle  of 
which  was  a  small  fire-pan  (focuhis),  in  which,  from 
time  to  time,  sacrifices  were  burnt.  The  altar  has  now 
become  a  booth,  thefoculus  a  caldron,  the  sacrifices  are  of 
little  fishes  as  well  as  of  cakes,  and  San  Giuseppe  has 
taken  the  place  of  Bacchus,  Liber  Pater  ;  but  the  festivals, 
despite  these  differences,  have  such  grotesque  points  of 
resemblance  that  the  latter  looks  like  the  former,  just  as 


LENT— FESTA   DI  GROTTA-FE1UIATA.       101 

one's  face  is  still  one's  face,  however  distortedly  reflected 
in  the  bowl  of  a  spoon  ;  and,  perhaps,  if  one  remembers 
the  third  day  of  the  Anthesteria,  when  cooked  vegetables 
were  offered  in  honor  of  Bacchus,  by  putting  it  together 
with  the  Liberalia,  we  shall  easily  get  the  modern  festa  of 
San  Giuseppe. 

But  not  only  at  this  time  and  at  these  booths  are  good 
fritti  to  be  found.  It  is  a  favorite  mode  of  cooking  in 
Rome ;  and  a  mixed  fry  (fritta  mista)  of  bits  of  liver, 
brains,  cauliflower,  and  artichokes  is  a  staple  dish,  always 
ready  at  every  restaurant.  At  any  osteria  con  cuclna  on 
the  Campagna  one  is  also  sure  of  a  good  omelet  and  salad  ; 
and,  sitting  under  the  vines,  after  a  long  walk,  I  have 
made  as  savory  a  lunch  on  these  two  articles  as  ever  I 
found  in  the  most  glittering  restaurant  in  the  Palais  Royal. 
If  one  add  the  background  of  exquisite  mountains,  the 
middle  distance  of  flowery  slopes,  where  herds  of  long- 
haired goats,  sheep,  and  gray  oxen  are  feeding  among  the 
skeletons  of  broken  aqueducts,  ruined  tombs,  and  shattered 
mediaeval  towers,  and  the  foreground  made  up  of  pictur- 
esque groups  of  peasants,  who  lounge  about  the  door,  and 
come  and  go,  and  men  from  the  Campagna,  on  horseback, 
with  their  dark,  capacious  cloaks  and  long  ironed  staff, 
who  have  come  from  counting  their  oxen  and  superintend- 
ing the  farming,  and  carrettieri,  stopping  in  their  hooded 
wine-carts  or  ringing  along  the  road,  —  there  is,  perhaps, 
as  much  to  charm  the  artist  as  is  to  be  seen  while  sipping 
beer  or  eau  gazeuse  on  the  hot  Parisian  asphalte,  where 
the  yrisette  studiously  shows  her  clean  ankles,  and  the 
dandy  struts  in  his  patent-leather  boots. 

One  great  festa  there  is  during  Lent  at  the  little  town 
of  Grotta-Ferrata,  about  fourteen  miles  from  Rome.  It 
takes  place  on  the  25th  of  March,  and  sometimes  is  very 
gay  and  picturesque,  and  always  charming  to  one  who  has 
eyes  to  see  and  has  shed  some  of  his  national  prejudices. 
By  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning  open  carriages  begin  to 
stream  out  of  the  Porta  San  Giovanni,  and  in  about  two 
hours  in  :y  be  seen  the  old  castellated  monastery,  at  whose 
foot  the  little  village  of  Grotta-Ferrata  stands.  As  we 
advance  through  noble  elms  and  plane-trees,  crowds  of 


102  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

peasants  line  the  way,  beggars  scream  from  the  banks, 
donkeys  bray,  carrette  rattle  along,  until  at  last  we  arrive 
at  a  long  meadow  which  seems  alive  and  crumbling  with 
gayly  dressed  figures  that  are  moving  to  and  fro  as  thick  as 
ants  upon  an  ant-hill.  Here  are  gathered  peasants  from 
all  the  country  villages  within  ten  miles,  all  in  their  festal 
costumes ;  along  the  lane  which  skirts  the  meadow  and 
leads  through  the  great  gate  of  the  old  fortress,  donkeys 
are  crowded  together,  and  keeping  up  a  constant  and  out- 
rageous concert ;  mountebanks,  in  harlequin  suits,  are 
making  faces  or  haranguing  from  a  platform,  and  inviting 
everybody  into  their  penny  -  show.  From  inside  their 
booths  is  heard  the  sound  of  the  invariable  pipes  and 
drum,  and  from  the  lifted  curtain  now  and  then  peers 
forth  a  comic  face,  and  disappears  with  a  sudden  scream 
and  wild  gesticulation.  Meantime  the  closely -packed 
crowd  moves  slowly  along  in  both  directions,  and  on  we 
go  through  the  archway  into  the  great  court-yard.  Here, 
under  the  shadow  of  the  monastery,  booths  and  benches 
stand  in  rows,  arrayed  with  the  produce  of  the  country 
villages,  —  shoes,  rude  implements  of  husbandry,  the 
coarse  woven  fabrics  of  the  country  people,  hats  with 
cockades  and  rosettes,  feather  brooms  and  brushes,  and 
household  things,  with  here  and  there  the  tawny  pinch- 
beck ware  of  a  peddler  of  jewelry,  and  little  framed  pic- 
tures of  the  Madonna  and  saints.  Extricating  ourselves 
from  the  crowd,  we  ascend  by  a  stone  stairway  to  the 
walk  around  the  parapets  of  the  walls,  and  look  down  upon 
the  scene.  How  gay  it  is  !  Around  the  fountain,  which 
is  spilling  in  the  centre  of  the  court,  a  constantly  vary- 
ing group  is  gathered,  washing,  drinking,  and  filling  their 
flasks  and  vases.  Near  by  a  charlatan,  mounted  on  a 
table,  with  a  canvas  behind  him  painted  all  over  with  odd 
cabalistic  figures,  is  screaming  in  loud  and  voluble  tones, 
the  virtues  of  his  medicines  and  unguents,  and  his  skill  in 
extracting  teeth.  One  need  never  have  a  pang  in  tooth, 
ear,  head,  or  stomach,  if  one  will  but  trust  to  his  wonder- 
ful promises.  In  one  little  bottle  he  has  the  famous  water 
which  renews  youth ;  in  another  the  lotion  which  awakens 
love,  or  cures  jealousy,  or  changes  the  fright  into  the 


LENT— THE   CHARLATAN.  103 

beauty.  All  the  while  he  plays  with  his  tame  serpents, 
and  chatters  as  if  his  tongue  went  of  itself,  while  the 
crowd  of  peasants  below  gape  at  him,  laugh  with  him,  and 
buy  from  him.  Listen  to  him,  all  who  have  ears  !  — 

Udite,  udite,  O  rustic! ! 
Attenti,  non  fiatate ! 
lo  gia  suppongo  e  immagino 
Che  al  par  di  me  sappiate 
Che  io  son  quel  gran  medico 
Dottore  Enciclopedieo 
Chiamato  Dulcamara, 
La  cui  virtu  preclara 
E  i  portenti  infiniti 
Son  noti  in  tutto  il  mondo  —  e  in  altri  siti. 

Benefattor  degli  uomini, 
Reparator  dei  niali, 
In  pochi  giorni  io  sgomhrerfc. 
Io  spazzo  gli  spedali, 
E  la  salute  a  vendere 
Per  tutto  il  mondo  io  vo, 
Compratela,  compratela,  — 
Per  poco  io  ve  la  do. 

E  questo  1'  odontalgico, 
Mirabile  liquore, 
De'  topi  e  dei  cimici 
Possente  distruttore, 
I  cui  certificati 
Autentici,  bollati, 
Toccar,  vedere,  e  leggere, 
A  ciaschedun  farb. 
Per  questo  mio  specifico 
Simpatieo,  prolifico, 
Un  uom  settuagenario 
E  valetudinario 
Nonno  di  dieci  bamholi 
Ancora  divento. 

0  voi  matrone  rigide, 
Ringiovanir  bramate  ? 
Le  vostre  rughe  incomode 
Con  esso  cancellate. 
Volete,  voi  donzelle, 
Ben  liscia  aver  la  pelle  ? 
Voi  giovani  galanti, 
Per  sempre  avere  amanti, 
Comprate  il  mio  specifico,  — 
Per  poco  io  ve  lo  do. 


104  ROBA  Dl  ROMA. 

Ei  muove  i  paralitici, 
Spedisce  gli  apopletici, 
Gli  asmatici,  gli  artritici, 
Gli  isterici,  e  diabetic! ; 
Guarisce  timpanitidi 
E  scrof  oli  e  rachitidi ; 
E  fino  il  mal  di  fegato, 
Che  in  moda  divento. 
Comprate  il  mio  specifieo,  — 
Per  poco  io  ve  lo  do. 

And  so  on  and  on  and  on.  There  is  never  an  end  of  that 
voluble  gabble.  Nothing  is  more  amusing  than  the  Italian 
ciarlatano,  wherever  you  meet  him ;  but,  like  many  other 
national  characters,  he  is  vanishing,  and  is  seen  more  and 
more  rarely  every  year. 

But  to  return  to  the  fair  and  our  station  on  the  parapets 
at  Grotta-Ferrata.  Opposite  us  is  a  penthouse  (where  no- 
body peaks  and  pines),  covered  with  green  boughs,  whose 
jutting  eaves  and  posts  are  adorned  with  gay  draperies ; 
and  under  the  shadow  of  this  is  seated  a  motley  set  of 
peasants  at  their  lunch  and  dinner.  Smoking  plates  come 
in  and  out  of  the  dark  hole  of  a  door  that  opens  into 
kitchen  and  cellar,  and  the  waiters  flourish  their  napkins 
and  cry  constantly,  "  Vengo  subito,"  "  Eccomi  qua," 
whether  they  come  or  not.  Big-bellied  flasks  of  rich 
Grotta  -  Ferrata  wine  are  filled  and  emptied ;  bargains 
are  struck  for  cattle,  donkeys,  and  clothes ;  healths  are 
pledged ;  and  toasts  are  given,  and  passatella  is  played. 
But  there  is  no  riot  and  no  quarrelling.  If  we  lift  our 
eyes  from  this  swarm  below,  we  see  the  exquisite  Cam- 
pagna  with  its  silent,  purple  distances  stretching  off  to 
Rome,  and  hear  the  rush  of  a  wild  torrent  scolding  in  the 
gorge  below  among  the  stones  and  olives. 

But  while  we  are  lingering  here,  a  crowd  is  pushing 
through  into  the  inner  court,  where  mass  is  going  in  the 
curious  old  church.  One  has  now  to  elbow  his  way  to 
enter,  and  all  around  the  door,  even  out  into  the  middle 
court,  contadini  are  kneeling.  Besides  this,  the  whole 
place  reeks  intolerably  with  garlic,  which,  mixed  with 
whiffs  of  incense  from  the  church  within  and  other  un- 
mentionable smells,  make  such  a  compound  that  only  a 


LI:NT—  ONIONS  AND  GARLIC.          105 

brave  nose"  can  stand  it.  But  stand  it  we  must,  if  we 
would  see  Domeniehino's  frescoes  in  the  chapel  within  ; 
and  as  they  are  among  the  best  products  of  his  cold  and 
clever  talent,  we  gasp,  and  push  on,  —  the  most  resolute 
alone  getting  through.  Here  in  this  old  monastery,  as  the 
story  goes,  he  sought  refuge  from  the  fierce  Salvator  Rosa, 
by  whom  his  life  was  threatened,  and  here  he  painted 
some  of  his  best  works,  shaking  in  his  shoes  with  fear. 
When  we  have  examined  these  frescoes,  we  have  done  the 
fair  of  Grotta-Ferrata ;  and  those  of  us  who  are  wise  and 
have  brought  with  us  a  well-packed  hamper,  stick  in  our 
hat  one  of  the  red  artificial  roses  which  everybody  wears, 
take  a  charming  drive  to  the  Villa  Conti,  Muti,  or  Fal- 
conieri,  and  there,  under  the  ilexes,  forget  the  garlic,  fin- 
ish the  day  with  a  picnic,  and  return  to  Rome  when  the 
western  sun  is  painting  the  Alban  Hill. 

And  here,  in  passing,  one  word  on  the  onions  and  garlic, 
whose  odor  issues  from  the  mouths  of  every  Italian  crowd, 
like  the  fumes  from  the  maw  of  Fridolin's  dragon. 
Everybody  eats  them  in  Italy  ;  the  upper  classes  show 
them  to  their  dishes  to  give  them  a  flavor,  and  the  lower 
use  them  not  only  as  a  flavor  but  as  a  food.  When  only 
a  formal  introduction  of  them  is  made  to  a  dish,  I  confess 
that  the  result  is  far  from  disagreeable ;  but  that  close, 
intimate,  and  absorbing  relation  existing  between  them 
and  the  lowest  classes  is  frightful.  Senza  complimenti,  it 
is  "  tolerable  and  not  to  be  endured."  When  a  poor  man 
can  procure  a  raw  onion  and  a  hunch  of  black  bread,  he 
does  not  want  a  dinner  ;  and  towards  noon  many  and 
many  a  one  may  be  seen  sitting  like  a  king  upon  a  door- 
step, or  making  a  statuesque  finish  to  a  palace  portone, 
cheerfully  munching  this  spare  meal,  and  taking  his  siesta 
after  it,  full  length  upon  the  bare  pavement,  as  calmly  as 
if  he  were  in  the  perfumed  chambers  of  the  great :  — 

"Under  the  canopies  of  costly  state, 
And  lulled  with  sounds  of  sweetest  melody." 

And,  indeed,  so  he  is ;  for  the  canopy  of  the  soft  blue  sky 
is  above  him,  and  the  plashing  fountains  lull  him  to  his 
dreams.  Nor  is  he  without  ancient  authority  for  his  devo- 


106  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

tion  to  those  twin  saints,  Cipollo  and  Aglio.  There  is  an 
"  odor  of  sanctity  "  about  them,  turn  up  our  noses  as  we 
may.  The  ancient  Egyptians  offered  them  as  first-fruits 
upon  the  altars  of  their  gods,  and  employed  them  also  in 
the  services  of  the  dead  ;  and  such  was  their  attachment  to 
them,  that  the  followers  of  Moses  hankered  after  them  de- 
spite the  manna,  and  longed  for  "  the  leeks  and  the  onions 
and  the  garlic  which  they  did  eat  in  Egypt  freely."  Nay, 
even  the  fastidious  Greeks  not  only  used  them  as  a  charm 
against  the  Evil  Eye,  but  ate  them  with  delight.  In  the 
"Banquet"  of  Xenophon,  Socrates  specially  recommends 
them,  and  Galen  discourses  wisely  and  at  length  on  their 
admirable  qualities.  On  this  occasion,  several  curious 
reasons  for  their  use  are  adduced,  of  which  we  who  de- 
spise them  should  not  be  ignorant.  Niceratus  says  that 
they  relish  well  with  wine,  citing  Homer  in  confirmation 
of  his  opinion  ;  Callias  affirms  that  they  inspire  courage  in 
battle  ;  and  Charmidas  clenches  the  matter  by  declaring 
that  they  are  most  useful  in  "  deceiving  a  jealous  wife, 
who,  finding  her  husband  returned  with  his  breath  smelling 
of  onions,  would  be  induced  to  believe  he  had  not  saluted 
any  one  while  from  home."  Despise  them  not,  therefore, 
O  Saxon  !  for  their  pedigree  is  long,  and  they  are  sacred 
plants.  Happily  for  you  if  these  reasons  do  not  persuade 
you  against  your  will,  there  is  a  certain  specific  against 
them,  —  Eat  them  yourself,  and  you  will  smell  them  no 
longer. 

The  time  of  the  church  processions  is  now  coming,  and 
one  good  specimen  takes  place  on  the  29th  of  March,  from 
the  Santa  Maria  in  Via,  which  may  stand  with  little  varia- 
tions for  all  the  others.  These  processions,  which  are 
given  by  every  church  once  a  year,  are  in  honor  of  the 
Madonna,  or  some  saint  specially  reverenced  in  the  par- 
ticular church.  They  make  the  circuit  of  the  parish  limits, 
passing  through  all  its  principal  streets,  and  every  window 
and  balcony  is  decorated  with  yellow  and  crimson  hang- 
ings, and  with  crowds  of  dark  eyes.  The  front  of  the 
church,  the  steps,  and  the  street  leading  to  it  are  spread 
with  yellow  sand,  over  which  are  scattered  sprigs  of  box. 
After  the  procession  has  been  organized  in  the  church, 


LENT  — PILGRIMS  IN  HOLY  WEEK.         107 

they  "  come  unto  these  yellow  sands,"  preceded  by  a  band 
of  music,  which  plays  rather  jubilant,  and  what  the  unco 
pious  would  call  profane  music,  of  polkas  and  marches, 
and  airs  from  the  operas.  Next  follow  great  lanterns  of 
strung  glass  drops,  accompanied  by  soldiers ;  then  an  im- 
mense gonfalon  representing  the  Virgin  at  the  Cross,  which 
swings  backwards  and  forwards,  borne  by  the  confraternity 
of  the  parish,  with  blue  capes  over  their  white  dresses,  and 
all  holding  torches.  Then  follows  a  huge  wooden  cross, 
garlanded  with  golden  ivy-leaves,  and  also  upheld  by  the 
confraternity  who  stagger  under  its  weight.  Next  come 
two  crucifixes,  covered,  as  the  body  of  Christ  always  is 
during  Lent  and  until  Resurrection  day,  with  cloth  of 
purple  (the  color  of  passion),  and  followed  by  the  frati  of 
the  church  in  black,  carrying  candles  and  dolorously  chant- 
ing a  hymn.  Then  comes  the  bishop  in  his  mitre,  his  yel- 
low stole  upheld  by  two  principal  priests  (the  curate  and 
sub-curate),  and  to  him  his  acolytes  waft  incense,  as  well 
as  to  the  huge  figure  of  the  Madonna  which  follows.  This 
figure  is  of  life-size,  carved  in  wood,  surrounded  by  gilt 
angels,  and  so  heavy  that  sixteen  stout  porters,  whose 
shabby  trousers  show  under  their  improvised  costume,  are 
required  to  bear  it  along.  With  this  the  procession  comes 
to  its  climax.  Immediately  after  follow  the  guards,  and 
a  great  concourse  of  the  populace  closes  the  train. 

As  Holy  Week  approaches,  pilgrims  begin  to  flock  to 
Rome  with  their  oil-cloth  capes,  their  scallop-shell,  their 
long  staffs,  their  rosaries,  and  their  dirty  hands  held 
out  constantly  for  "  una  santa  elemosina  pel  povero  pelle- 
grino."  Let  none  of  my  fair  friends  imagine  that  she 
will  find  a  Romeo  among  them,  or  she  will  be  most  griev- 
ously disappointed.  There  is  something  to  touch  your 
pity  in  their  appearance,  though  not  the  pity  akin  to  love. 
They  are,  for  the  most  part,  old,  shabby,  soiled,  and  in- 
veterate mendicants,  —  and  though,  some  time  or  other, 
some  one  or  other  may  have  known  one  of  them  for  her 
true  love  "by  his  cockle  hat  and  staff,  and  his  sandal 
shoon,"  that  time  has  been  long  forbye,  unless  they  are 
wondrously  disguised.  Besides  these  pilgrims,  and  often 
in  company  with  them,  bands  of  peasants,  with  their  long 


108  ROB  A  DI  ROMA. 

staffs,  may  be  met  on  the  road,  making  a  pilgrimage  to 
Rome  for  the  Holy  Week,  clad  in  splendid  ciociari  dresses, 
carrying  their  clothes  on  their  heads,  and  chanting  a 
psalm  as  they  go.  Among  these  may  be  found  many  a 
handsome  youth  and  beautiful  maid,  whose  faces  will 
break  into  the  most  charming  of  smiles  as  you  salute  them 
and  wish  them  a  happy  pilgrimage.  And  of  all  smiles, 
none  is  so  sudden,  open,  and  enchanting  as  a  Roman  girl's  : 
breaking  out  over  their  dark,  passionate  faces,  black  eyes, 
and  level  brows,  like  a  burst  of  sunlight  from  behind  a 
cloud.  There  must  be  noble  possibilities  in  any  nation 
which,  through  all  its  oppression  and  degradation,  has 
preserved  the  childlike  frankness  of  an  Italian  smile. 

Still  another  indication  of  the  approach  of  Holy  Week 
is  the  Easter  egg,  which  now  makes  its  appearance,  and 
warns  us  of  the  solemnities  to  come.  Sometimes  it  is 
stained  yellow,  purple,  red,  green,  or  striped  with  various 
colors ;  sometimes  it  is  crowned  with  paste-work  repre- 
senting, in  a  most  primitive  way,  a  hen,  —  her  body  being 
the  egg,  and  her  pastry  head  adorned  with  a  dispropor- 
tionately tall  feather.  These  eggs  are  exposed  for  sale  at 
the  corners  of  the  streets  and  bought  by  everybody,  and 
every  sort  of  ingenious  device  is  resorted  to  to  attract  cus- 
tomers and  render  them  attractive.  This  custom  is  prob- 
ably derived  from  the  East,  where  the  egg  is  the  symbol 
of  the  primitive  state  of  the  world  and  of  the  creation 
of  things.  The  new  year  formerly  began  at  the  spring 
equinox,  about  Easter ;  and  at  that  period  of  the  renewal 
of  Nature,  a  festival  was  celebrated  in  the  new  moon  of 
the  month  Phamenoth,  in  honor  of  Osiris,  when  painted 
and  gilded  eggs  were  exchanged  as  presents,  in  reference 
to  the  beginning  of  all  things.  The  transference  of  the 
commencement  of  the  year  to  January  deprived  the  Pas- 
chal egg  of  its  significance.  Formerly  in  France,  and  still 
in  Russia  as  in  Italy,  it  had  a  religious  significance,  and 
was  never  distributed  until  it  had  received  a  solemn  bene- 
diction. On  Good  Friday,  a  priest  in  his  robes,  with  an 
attendant,  may  be  seen  going  into  every  door  in  the  street 
to  bless  the  house,  the  inhabitants,  and  the  eggs.  The 
last,  colored  and  arranged  according  to  the  taste  of  the 


LENT— THE  BLESSING  OF  EGGS.          109 

individual,  are  spread  upon  a  table,  which  is  decorated 
with  box,  flowers,  and  whatever  ornamental  dishes  the 
family  possesses.  The  priest  is  received  with  bows  at  the 
door ;  and  when  he  has  sprinkled  holy  water  around,  and 
given  his  benediction,  he  is  rewarded  with  the  gratuity  of 
a  paid  or  a  scudo,  according  to  the  piety  and  purse  of  the 
proprietor ;  while  into  the  basket  of  his  attendant  is  always 
dropped  a  loaf  of  bread,  a  couple  of  eggs,  a  baiocco,  or 
some  such  trifle. 

The  egg  plays  a  prominent  part  in  the  religions  of  the 
ancient  world,  and  serious  discussions  are  to  be  found  in 
Plutarch  and  Macrobius,  whether  the  egg  or  the  hen  was 
first  produced  :  philosophers  and  learned  men  declare  that 
the  egg  contained  in  itself  all  four  elements,  and  was  there- 
fore a  microcosm.  It  was  used  in  auguries,  and  was  placed 
by  the  ancient  Romans  on  the  table  at  the  beginning  of 
their  repasts ;  and  at  the  feasts  in  honor  of  the  dead  it 
also  had  a  prominent  place.  The  ancient  Jews  at  Pasqua, 
after  purifying  and  cleansing  the  house,  placed  hard  eggs 
on  the  table  as  a  symbol ;  as  well  as  cakes,  dates,  and 
dried  figs.  The  Greeks  and  Romans  also  used  the  egg  in 
expiations,  and  when  they  blessed  the  houses  and  temples, 
and  sprinkled  them  with  lustral  water,  they  carried  an 
egg  with  them.  The  account  of  the  blessing  of  a  ship  by 
Apuleius  might  almost  stand  for  a  description  of  the  mod- 
ern ceremony  at  Pasqua.  "  The  high-priest,"  he  says, 
"  carrying  a  lighted  torch  and  an  egg,  and  some  sulphur, 
made  the  most  solemn  prayers  with  his  chaste  lips,  com- 
pletely purified  it,  and  consecrated  it  to  the  goddess." 

Beside  the  blessing  of  the  eggs  and  house,  it  is  the 
custom  in  some  parts  of  Italy,  (and  I  have  particularly  ob- 
served it  in  Siena,)  for  the  priest,  at  Easter,  to  affix  to 
the  door  of  the  chief  palaces  and  villas  a  waxen  cross,  or 
the  letter  M  in  wax,  so  as  to  guard  the  house  from  evil 
spirits.  But  only  the  houses  of  the  rich  are  thus  pro- 
tected ;  for  the  priests  bestow  favors  only  "  for  a  con- 
sideration," which  the  poor  cannot  so  easily  give. 

Among  the  celebrations  which  take  place  throughout 
Italy  at  this  period,  is  one  which,  though  not  peculiar  to 
Rome,  deserves  record  here  for  its  singularity.  On  Good 


110  ROBA  Dl  ROMA. 

Friday  it  is  the  custom  of  the  people  of  Prato  (a  little 
town  near  Florence)  to  celebrate  the  occasion  by  a  pro- 
cession, which  takes  place  after  nightfall,  and  is  intended 
to  represent  the  procession  to  the  Cross.  The  persons 
composing  it  are  mounted  on  horseback  and  dressed  in 
fantastic  costumes,  borrowed  from  the  theatrical  wardrobe, 
representing  Pontius  Pilate,  the  centurions,  guards,  execu- 
tioners, apostles,  and  even  Judas  himself.  Each  one 
carries  in  one  hand  a  flaring  torch,  and  in  the  other  some 
emblem  of  the  Crucifixion,  such  as  the  hammer,  pincers, 
spear,  sponge,  cross,  and  so  on.  The  horses  are  all  un- 
shod, so  that  their  hoofs  may  not  clatter  on  the  pavement ; 
and,  with  a  sort  of  mysterious  noiselessness,  this  singular 
procession  passes  through  all  the  principal  streets,  illumi- 
nated by  torches  that  gleam  picturesquely  on  their  tinsel- 
covered  robes,  helmets,  and  trappings.  This  celebration 
only  takes  place  once  in  three  years ;  and  on  the  last  oc- 
casion but  one,  a  tremendous  thunderstoim  broke  over 
the  town  as  the  procession  was  passing  alcng.  The  crowd 
thereupon  incontinently  dispersed,  and  the  unfortunate  per- 
son who  represented  Judas,  trembling  with  superstitious 
fear,  fell  upon  his  knees,  and,  after  the  fashion  of  Snug  the 
joiner,  who  relieved  the  Duke  Theseus  by  declaring  that  he 
was  only  a  lion's  fell  and  not  a  veritable  lion,  cried  out  to 
the  Madonna,  "  Misericordia  per  me  !  Have  mercy  on 
me !  I  am  not  really  Judas,  but  only  the  cobbler  at  the 
corner,  who  is  representing  him  —  all  for  the  glory  of  the 
blessed  Bambino."  And  in  consideration  of  this  infor- 
mation the  Madonna  graciously  extended  him  her  potent 
aid,  and  saved  his  valued  life  —  but  he  has  henceforth  re- 
joiced in  the  popular  nickname  of  Judas. 

It  is  on  this  day,  too,  that  the  customary  Jew  is  con- 
verted, recants,  and  is  baptized ;  and  there  are  not  want- 
ing evil  tongues  which  declare  that  there  is  a  wonderful 
similarity  in  his  physiognomy  every  year.  However  this 
may  be,  there  is  no  doubt  that  someone  is  annually  dug  out 
of  the  Ghetto,  which  is  the  pit  of  Judaism  here  in  Rome  ; 
and  if  he  fall  back  again,  after  receiving  the  temporal  re- 
ward, and  without  waiting  for  the  spiritual,  he  probably 
finds  it  worth  his  while  to  do  so,  in  view  of  the  zeal  of  the 


LENT— ILLUMINATED  PIZZICHER1A   SHOPS.    Ill 

Church,  and  in  remembrance  of  the  fifteenth  verse  of  the 
twenty-third  chapter  of  Matthew,  if  he  ever  reads  that  por- 
tion of  the  Bible.  It  is  in  the  great  basaltic  vase  in  the 
baptistery  of  St.  John  Lateran,  the  same  in  which  Rienzi 
bathed  in  1347  before  receiving  the  insignia  of  knight- 
hood, that  the  converted  Jew,  and  any  other  infidel  who 
can  be  brought  over,  receives  his  baptism  when  he  is  taken 
into  the  arms  of  the  Church. 

It  is  at  this  season,  too,  that  fae  pix&icheria  shops  are 
gayly  dressed  in  the  manner  so  graphically  described  by 
Hans  Andersen  in  his  "  Improvisatore."  No  wonder, 
that,  to  little  Antonio,  the  interior  of  one  of  these  shops 
looked  like  a  realization  of  Paradise  ;  for  they  are  really 
splendid ;  and  when  glittering  with  candles  and  lamps  at 
nio-ht,  the  effect  is  very  striking.  Great  sides  of  bacon 
and  lard  are  ranged  endwise  in  regular  bars  all  round  the 
interior,  and  adorned  with  stripes  of  various  colors,  mixed 
with  golden  spangles  and  flashing  tinsel  ;  while  over  and 
under  them,  in  reticulated  work,  are  piled  scores  upon 
scores  of  brown  cheeses  in  the  form  of  pyramids,  columns, 
towers,  with  eggs  set  into  their  interstices.  From  the 
ceiling,  and  around  the  doorway,  hang  wreaths  and  neck- 
laces of  sausages,  —  or  groups  of  long  gourd-like  cheeses, 
twined  about  with  box,  —  or  netted  wire  baskets  filled 
with  Easter  eggs,  —  or  great  bunches  of  white  candles 
gathered  together  at  the  wicks.  Seen  through  these,  at 
the  bottom  of  the  shop,  is  a  picture  of  the  Madonna,  with 
scores  of  candles  burning  about  it,  and  gleaming  upon 
the  tinsel  hangings  and  spangles  with  which  it  is  deco- 
rated. Underneath  this,  there  is  often  represented  an 
elaborate  presepio,  or,  when  this  is  not  the  case,  the  ani- 
mals may  be  seen  mounted  here  and  there  on  the  cheeses. 
Candelabri  of  eggs,  curiously  bound  together,  so  as  to  re- 
semble bunches  of  gigantic  white  grapes,  are  swung  from 
the  centre  of  the  ceiling,  —  and  cups  of  colored  glass,  with 
a  taper  in  them,  or  red  paper  lanterns,  and  terra-cotta 
lamps,  of  the  antique  form,  show  here  and  there  their 
little  flames  among  the  flitches  of  bacon  and  cheeses  ; 
while,  in  the  midst  of  all  this  splendor,  the  figure  of  the 
pizzicagnolo  moves  to  and  fro,  like  a  high-priest  at  a  cere- 


112  RODA  DI  ROMA. 

mony.  Nor  is  this  illumination  exclusive.  The  doors, 
often  of  the  full  width  of  the  shop,  are  thrown  wide  open, 
and  the  glory  shines  upon  all  passers-by.  It  is  the  apoth- 
eosis of  ham  and  cheese,  at  which  only  the  Hebraic  nose, 
doing  violence  to  its  natural  curve,  turns  up  in  scorn  ; 
while  true  Christians  crowd  around  it  to  wonder  and  ad- 
mire, and  sometimes  to  venture  in  upon  the  almost  en- 
chanted ground.  May  it  be  long  before  this  custom  dies 
out! 

At  last  comes  Holy  Week,  with  its  pilgrims  that  flock 
from  every  part  of  the  world.  Every  hotel  and  furnished 
apartment  is  crowded,  —  every  carriage  is  hired  at  double 
and  treble  its  ordinary  fare,  —  every  door,  where  a  Papal 
ceremony  is  to  take  place,  is  besieged  by  figures  in  black 
with  black  veils.  The  streets  are  filled  with  Germans, 
English,  French,  Americans,  all  on  the  move,  coming  and 
going,  and  anxiously  inquiring  about  the  ceremonies,  and 
when  they  are  to  take  place,  and  where,  —  for  everything 
is  kept  in  a  charming  condition  of  perfect  uncertainty, 
from  the  want  of  any  public  newspaper  or  journal,  or  other 
accurate  means  of  information.  So  everybody  asks  every- 
body, and  everybody  tells  everybody,  until  nobody  knows 
anything,  and  everything  is  guesswork.  But,  neverthe- 
less, despite  impatient  words,  and  muttered  curses,  and  all 
kinds  of  awkward  mistakes,  the  battle  goes  bravely  on. 
There  is  terrible  fighting  by  the  crowd  of  strangers  at  the 
door  of  the  Sistine  Chapel  to  hear  the  Miserere,  which  is 
sure  to  be  Baini's  when  it  is  said  to  be  Allegri's,  as  well  as 
at  the  railing  of  the  Chapel,  where  the  washing  of  the  feet 
takes  place,  and  at  the  Supper-table,  where  twelve  peasants 
represent  the  Apostolic  company,  and  are  waited  on  by 
the  Pope.  The  air  is  close  to  suffocation  in  this  last 
place.  Men  and  women  faint  and  are  carried  out.  Some 
fall  and  are  trodden  down.  Sometimes,  as  at  the  table  a 
few  years  ago,  some  unfortunate  pays  for  her  curiosity 
with  her  life.  It  is  "  Devil  take  the  hindmost !  "  and  if 
anyone  is  down,  he  is  leaped  over  by  men  and  women 
indiscriminately,  for  there  is  no  time  to  be  lost.  In  the 
Chapel,  when  once  they  are  in,  all  want  to  get  out 
Shrieks  are  heard  as  the  jammed  mass  sways  backward 


LENT  — STRANGERS  IN  CHURCHES.        113 

and  forward,  —  veils  and  dresses  are  torn  in  the  struggle, 
—  women  are  praying  for  help.  Meantime  the  Swiss 
guard  keep  to  their  orders  with  a  literalness  which  knows 
no  parallel ;  and  all  this  time,  the  Pope,  who  has  come  in 
by  a  private  door,  is  handing  round  beef  and  mustard  and 
bread  and  potatoes  to  the  gormandizing  Apostles,  who  put 
into  their  pockets  what  their  stomachs  cannot  hold,  and 
improve  their  opportunities  in  every  way.  At  last  those 
who  have  been  through  the  fight  return  at  nightfall,  hag- 
gard and  ghastly  with  fear,  hunger,  and  fatigue ;  and, 
after  agreeing  that  they  could  never  counsel  any  one  to 
such  an  attempt,  set  off  the  next  morning  to  attack  again 
some  shut  door  behind  which  a  "  function"  is  to  take  place. 

All  this,  however,  is  done  by  the  strangers.  The  Ro- 
mans, on  these  high  festivals,  do  not  go  to  St.  Peter's, 
but  perform  their  religious  services  at  their  parish  churches 
calmly  and  peacefully ;  for  in  St.  Peter's  all  is  a  spectacle. 
"  How  shall  I,  a  true  son  of  the  Holy  Church,"  asks  Pas- 
quin,  "  obtain  admittance  to  her  services  ?  "  And  Marfo- 
rio  answers,  "  Declare  you  are  an  Englishman,  and  swear 
you  are  a  heretic." 

The  one  thing  our  friends  will  not  believe  or  under- 
stand is  that  these  ceremonies  of  the  church  are  religious 
ceremonies,  —  on  the  contrary,  they  insist  on  regarding 
them  as  spectacles  got  up  for  foreigners  and  heretics  to 
stare  at,  and  they  count  it  no  shame  to  be  guilty  of  con- 
duct in  the  Catholic  church  which  they  would  resent,  if 
it  should  be  ti'ied  in  their  own.  They  go  to  see  the  crowd, 
to  meet  their  friends,  to  look  jeeringly  or  at  least  critically 
on  all  that  takes  place.  They  chat  with  each  other  while 
mass  is  going  on,  without  taking  the  trouble  to  move 
away  from  among  those  who  seriously  wish  to  hear  if  not 
to  perform  a  religious  duty,  —  in  a  word,  they  behave  as 
if  they  were  at  a  spectacle.  The  same  course  was  tried  a 
short  time  since  at  the  English  chapel  outside  the  Porta 
del  Popolo,  by  a  young  Frenchman.  He  had  no  inten- 
tion of  offending  any  one,  but  observing  that  the  English 
all  acted  in  this  manner  in  his  own  churches,  he  thought 
he  was  justified  in  following  their  example  in  their  church. 
"  Where  can  one  see  all  the  pretty  English  girls  of  which 


114  ROD  A  Dl  ROMA. 

one  hears  so  much  ?  "  said  he,  one  day,  to  a  friend.  "  At 
their  chapel,  of  course,"  said  his  friend.  "  You  will  see 
them  all  there."  So  he  went  one  Sunday  to  the  English 
chapel.  He  was  a  little  late.  Service  ha'd  already  com- 
menced ;  but  no  matter.  In  he  walked ;  all  were  seated 
and  solemnly  joining  in  the  prayers.  So  he  sauntered  up 
the  aisle,  begged  pardon  of  those  against  whose  dresses 
he  tripped  —  stopped  half-way,  turned  round,  put  up  his 
glass,  and  began  to  make  a  general  study  of  all  the  assem- 
bly —  and  particularly  cff  the  younger  and  fairer  portion 
of  it.  While  thus  engaged,  what  was  his  surprise  to  see 
a  man  he  did  not  know  beckon  him  and  point  to  a  seat. 
He  declined,  he  did  not  want  a  seat.  But  at  last  the  Ver- 
ger approached  him,  and  with  stern  persistence  put  him 
into  a  seat  in  the  innermost  corner  of  the  church,  where 
he  was  forced  to  stay  out  the  services.  He  recounted  the 
fact,  and  added  —  '•  Mais  ils  sont  droles,  ces  Anglais  !  " 

Belli  has  written  an  amusing  sonnet  on  the  "  Miserere 
de  la  Sittimana  Santa,"  in  the  Roman  dialect,  which  may 
here  have  a  place  :  — 

Tutti  1'  Ingres!  de  Piazza  de  Spaggna 

Nun  nanno  antro  che  ddi'ssi  cche  ppiascere 

E  di  senti  a  Ssan  Pietro  er  miserere 

Chi  g-gnisun'  istrumente  1'  accompagna. 

De  fatti  dico  in  ne  la  Gran  Bertaggna 

E  in  nell'  antre  capelle  furistiere 

Chi  ssa  ddi,  ccom'  a  Roma  in  ste  tre  ssere ;  — 

Miserere  mei  Deo  secunnum  maggna  ? 

Oggi  sur  maggna  see  so'  stati  un'  ora 

E  ccantata  accusi,  ssangue  dell'  na ! 

Quer  maggna  e  una  parola  che  innamora. 

Prima  1'  ha  ddetta  un  musico,  poi  dua 

Poi  tre,  ppoi  quattro  ;  e  ttutt'  er  coro  allora 

I'  ha  <lf lat i >  ggiii ;  mmisericordiam  tua.1 

1  All  the  English  of  the  Piazza  di  Spagna 

Have  nothing  to  say  but  what  a  pleasure 

It  is  to  hear  the  Miserere  in  St.  Peter's, 

Which  every  kind  of  instrument  accompanies. 

In  fact  I  ask,  in  their  Great  Britain 

And  in  all  their  other  foreign  chapels, 

Can  any  one  say,  as  in  Rome  on  these  three  evenings, 
"  Miserere  mei  Deosecunnum  maggna  "  ? 

To-day  upon  moggna  they  were  at  least  an  hour 

And  sang  in  that  fashion,  blood  of  an  egg 

That  mugijna  is  a  word  to  enamor  you ; 

First  it  was  said  by  one  musico,  then  two, 

Then  three,  then  four  ;  and  then  the  whole  chorus 

Came  down  upon  the  mmitfricordiam  tuft. 


LENT— BENEDICTION  AT  EASTER.         115 

The  Piazza  is  crowded  with  carriages  during  all  these 
days,  and  a  hackman  will  look  at  nothing  under  a  scudo 
for  the  smallest  distance,  and  to  your  remonstrances  he 
shrugs  his  shoulders  and  says,  "  Eh  signore,  bisogna  vi- 
vere  ;  adesso  e  la  nostra  settimana,  e  poi  niente."  ("  Next 
week  I  will  take  you  anywhere  for  two  pauls,  —  now  for 
fifteen.")  l  Meluccio  (the  little  old  apple),  the  aged  boy 
in  the  Piazza  San  Pietro,  whose  sole  occupation  it  has  been 
for  years  to  open  and  shut  the  doors  of  carriages  and  hold 
out  his  hand  for  a  mezzo-baiocco,  is  in  great  glee.  He 
runs  backwards  and  forwards  all  day  long,  —  hails  car- 
riages, —  identifies  to  the  bewildered  coachmen  their  lost 
fares,  whom  he  never  fails  to  remember,  —  points  out  to 
bewildered  strangers  the  coach  they  are  hopelessly  striv- 
ing to  identify,  having  entirely  foi-gotten  coachman  and 
carriage  in  the  struggle  they  have  gone  through.  He  is 
everywhere,  screaming,  laughing,  and  helping  everybody. 
It  is  his  high  festival  as  well  as  the  Pope's,  and  grateful 
strangers  drop  into  his  hand  the  frequent  baiocco  or  half- 
paul,  and  thank  God  and  Meluccio  as  they  sink  back  in 
their  carriages  and  cry,  "A  casa." 

Finally  comes  Easter  Sunday,  the  day  of  the  Resur- 
rection. At  twelve  on  the  Saturday  previous  all  the  bells 
are  rung,  the  crucifixes  uncovered,  and  the  Pope,  cardi- 
nals, and  priests  change  their  mourning-vestments  for 
those  of  rejoicing.  Easter  has  come.  You  may  know  it 
by  the  ringing  bells,  the  sound  of  trumpets  in  the  street, 
the  firing  of  guns  from  the  windows,  the  explosions  of 
mortars  planted  in  the  pavement ;  and  of  late  years,  — 
under  the  dispensation  of  French  generals,  who  are  in 
chronic  fear  of  a  revolution  on  all  festal  days,  —  by  the 
jar  of  long  trains  of  cannon  going  down  to  the  Piazza 
San  Pietro,  to  guard  the  place  and  join  in  the  dance,  in 
case  of  a  rising  among  the  populace. 

By  twelve  o'clock  Mass  in  St.  Peter's  is  over,  and  the 
Piazza  is  crowded  with  people  to  see  the  Benediction,  — 
and  a  grand,  imposing  spectacle  it  is  !  Out  over  the  great 

1  The  government,  since  this  was  written,  has  established  a  very 
fair  tariff  for  hackney  coaches ;  but,  in  recognition  of  old  customs, 
allows  a  double  fare  to  be  charged  at  this  season. 


116  RO'BA  DI  ROMA. 

4 

balcony  stretches  a  white  awning,  where  priests  and  at- 
tendants are  collected,  and  where  the  Pope  will  soon  be 
seen.  Below,  the  Piazza  is  alive  with  moving  masses.  In 
the  centre  are  drawn  up  long  lines  of  soldiery,  with  yel- 
low and  red  pompons  and  glittering  helmets  and  bayonets. 
These  are  surrounded  by  crowds  on  foot,  and  at  the  outer 
rim  are  packed  carriages  filled  and  overrun  with  people 
mounted  on  the  seats  and  boxes.  There  is  a  half -hour's 
waiting  while  we  can  look  about,  a  steady  stream  of  car- 
riages all  the  while  pouring  in,  and,  if  one  could  see  it, 
stretching  out  a  mile  behind,  and  adding  thousands  of  im- 
patient spectators  to  those  already  there.  What  a  sight 
it  is !  Above  us  the  great  dome  of  St.  Peter's,  and  be- 
low, the  grand  embracing  colonnade,  and  the  vast  space, 
in  the  centre  of  which  rises  the  solemn  obelisk,  thronged 
with  masses  of  living  beings.  Peasants  from  the  Cam- 
pagna  and  the  mountains  are  moving  about  everywhere. 
Pilgrims  in  oil-cloth  cape  and  with  iron  staff  demand 
charity.  On  the  steps  are  rows  of  purple,  blue,  and 
brown  umbrellas ;  for  there  the  sun  blazes  fiercely. 
Everywhere  crop  forth  the  white  hoods  of  Sisters  of  Char- 
ity, collected  in  groups,  and  showing,  among  the  parti- 
colored dresses,  like  beds  of  chrysanthemums  in  a  gar- 
den. One  side  of  the  massive  colonnade  casts  a  grateful 
shadow  over  the  crowd  beneath,  that  fills  up  the  intervals 
of  its  columns  ;  but  elsewhere  the  sun  burns  down  and 
flashes  everywhere.  Mounted  on  the  colonnade  are  crowds 
of  people  leaning  over,  beside  the  colossal  statues.  Through 
all  the  heat  is  heard  the  constant  plash  of  the  two  sun-lit 
fountains,  that  wave  to  and  fro  their  veils  of  white  spray. 
At  last  the  clock  strikes.  In  the  far  balcony,  beneath  the 
projecting  awning  that  casts  a  patch  of  soft  transparent 
shadow  along  the  golden  sunlit  facade,  and  surrounded  by 
a  group  of  brilliant  figures,  are  seen  two  huge  fans  of 
snowy  peacock  plumes,  and  between  them  a  figure  clad  in 
white  rises  from  a  golden  chair,  and  spreads  his  great 
sleeves  like  wings  as  he  raises  his  arms  in  benediction. 
That  is  the  Pope,  Pius  the  Ninth.  All  is  dead  silence, 
and  a  musical  voice,  sweet  and  penetrating,  is  heard 
chanting  from  the  balcony  ;  —  the  people  bend  and  kneel ; 


^     LENT— ILLUMINATION  OF  ST.  PETER'S.     117 

with  a  cold  gray  flash  the  forest  of  bayonets  gleams  as 
the  soldiers  drop  to  their  knees,  and  rise  to  salute  as  the 
voice  dies  away,  and  the  two  white  wings  are  again  waved  ; 

—  then  thunder  the  cannon,  —  the  bells   clash  and  peal 
joyously,  — and  a  few  white  papers,  like  huge  snowflakes, 
drop    wavering    from    the    balcony ;  —  these    are  Indul- 
gences, and  there  is  an  eager  struggle  for  them  below ; 

—  then  the  Pope  again  rises,  again  gives  his  benediction, 
waving  to  and  fro  his  right  hand,  three  fingers   open,  and 
making  the  sign  of  the  cross,  —  and  the  peacock  fans  re- 
tire, and  he  between  them  is  borne  away,  —  and  Lent  is 
over. 

As  Lent  is  ushered  in  by  the  dancing  lights  of  the  moc- 
coletti,  so  it  is  ushered  out  by  the  splendid  illumination  of 
St.  Peter's,  which  is  one  of  the  grandest  spectacles  in 
Rome.  The  first  illumination  is  by  means  of  paper  lan- 
terns, distributed  everywhere  along  the  architectural  lines 
of  the  church,  from  the  steps  beneath  its  portico  to  the 
cross  above  its  dome.  These  are  lighted  before  sunset, 
and  against  the  blaze  of  the  western  light  are  for  some 
time  completely  invisible ;  but  as  twilight  thickens,  and 
the  shadows  deepen,  and  a  gray  pearly  veil  is  drawn  over 
the  sky,  the  distant  basilica  begins  to  show  against  it  with 
a  dull  furnace-glow,  as  of  a  monstrous  coal  fanned  by  a 
constant  wind,  looking  not  so  much  lighted  from  without 
as  reddening  from  an  interior  fire.  Slowly  this  splendor 
grows,  and  the  mighty  building  at  last  stands  outlined 
against  the  dying  twilight  as  if  etched  there  with  a  fiery 
burin.  As  the  sky  darkens  into  intense  blue  behind  it, 
the  material  part  of  the  basilica  seems  to  vanish,  until 
nothing  is  left  to  the  eye  but  a  wondrous,  magical,  vision- 
ary structure  of  fire.  This  is  the  silver  illumination : 
watch  it  well,  for  it  does  not  last  long.  At  the  first  hour 
of  night,  when  the  bells  sound  all  over  Rome,  a  sudden 
change  takes  place.  From  the  lofty  cross  a  burst  of  flame 
is  seen,  and  instantly  a  flash  of  light  whirls  over  the  dome 
and  drum,  climbs  the  smaller  cupolas,  descends  like  a  rain 
of  fire  down  the  columns  of  the  facade,  and  before  the 
great  bell  of  St.  Peter's  has  ceased  to  toll  twelve  peals, 


118  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

the  golden  illumination  has  succeeded  to  the  silver.  For 
my  own  part,  I  prefer  the  first  illumination ;  it  is  more 
delicate,  airy,  and  refined,  though  the  second  is  more  bril- 
liant and  dazzling.  One  is  like  the  Bride  of  the  Church, 
the  other  like  the  Empress  of  the  World.  In  the  second 
lighting,  the  church  becomes  more  material ;  the  flames 
are  like  jewels,  and  the  dome  seems  a  gigantic  triple 
crown  of  St.  Peter's.  One  effect,  however,  is  very  strik- 
ing. The  outline  of  fire,  which  before  was  firm  and  mo- 
tionless, now  wavers  and  shakes  as  if  it  would  pass  away, 
as  the  wind  blows  the  flames  back  and  forth  from  the 
great  cups  by  which  it  is  lighted.  From  near  and  far  the 
world  looks  on,  —  from  the  Piazza  beneath,  where  car- 
riages drive  to  and  fro  in  its  splendor,  and  the  band  plays 
and  the  bells  toll,  —  from  the  windows  and  loggias  of  the 
city,  wherever  a  view  can  be  caught  of  this  superb  spec- 
tacle,—  and  from  the  Campagna  and  mountain  towns, 
where,  far  away,  alone  and  towering  above  everything, 
the  dome  is  seen  to  blaze.  Everywhere  are  ejaculations 
of  delight,  and  thousands  of  groups  are  playing  the  game 
of  "  What  is  it  like  ?  "  One  says,  it  is  like  a  hive  covered 
by  a  swarm  of  burning  bees  ;  others,  that  it  is  the  en- 
chanted palace  in  the  gardens  of  Gul  in  the  depths  of  the 
Arabian  nights,  — like  a  gigantic  tiara  set  with  wonderful 
diamonds,  larger  than  those  which  Sindbad  found  in  the 
roc's  valley,  — like  the  palace  of  the  fairies  in  the  dreams 
of  childhood,  —  like  the  stately  pleasure-dome  of  Kubla 
Khan  in  Xanadu,  —  and  twenty  other  whimsical  things. 
At  nearly  midnight,  ere  we  go  to  bed,  we  take  a  last  look 
at  it.  It  is  a  ruin,  like  the  Colosseum,  —  great  gaps  of 
darkness  are  there,  with  broken  rows  of  splendor.  The 
lights  are  gone  on  one  side  the  dome,  —  they  straggle  fit- 
fully here  and  there  down  the  otber  and  over  the  facade, 
fading  even  as  we  look.  It  is  melancholy  enough.  It  is 
a  bankrupt  heiress,  an  old  and  wrinkled  beauty,  that  tells 
strange  tales  of  its  former  wealth  and  charms,  when  the 
world  was  at  its  feet.  It  is  the  broken-down  poet  of  the 
madhouse,  —  with  flashes  of  wild  fancies  still  glaring  here 
and  there  amid  the  sad  ruin  of  his  thoughts.  It  is  the 


GAMES  —  MORRA.  119 

once  mighty  Catholic  Church,  crumbling  away  with  the   „ 
passage  of    the  night,  —  and  when  morning  and  light 
come,  it  will  be  no  more.1 


CHAPTER  VI. 

GAMES    IX    ROME. 

WALKING,  during  pleasant  weather,  almost  anywhere 
in  Rome,  but  especially  in  passing  through  the  enormous 
arches  of  the  Temple  of  Peace,  or  along  by  the  Colosseum, 
or  some  wayside  osteria  outside  the  city- walls,  the  ear  of 
the  traveller  is  often  saluted  by  the  loud,  explosive  tones  of 
two  voices  going  off  together,  at  little  intervals,  like  a  brace 
of  pistol-shots ;  and  turning  round  to  seek  the  cause  o£ 
these  strange  sounds,  he  will  see  two  men,  in  a  very  ex- 
cited state,  shouting,  as  they  fling  out  their  hands  at  each 
other  with  violent  gesticulation.  Ten  to  one  he  will  say 
to  himself,  if  he  be  a  stranger  in  Rome,  "  How  quarrel- 
some and  passionate  these  Italians  are !  "  If  he  be  an 
Englishman  or  an  American,  he  will  be  sure  to  congratu- 
late himself  on  the  superiority  of  his  own  countrymen,  and 
wonder  why  these  fellows  stand  there  shaking  their  fists 
at  each  other,  and  screaming,  instead  of  fighting  it  out  like 
men,  —  and  muttering,  u  A  cowardly  pack  too!  "  will  pass 
on,  perfectly  satisfied  with  his  facts  and  his  philosophy. 
But  what  he  has  seen  was  really  not  a  quarrel.  It  is  sim- 
ply the  game  of  Morra,  as  old  as  the  Pyramids,  and  for- 
merly played  among  the  hosts  of  Pharaoh  and  the  armies 
of  Csesar  as  now  by  the  subjects  of  Pius  IX.  It  is  thus 
played :  — 

Two  persons  place  themselves  opposite  each  other,  hold- 
ing their  right  hands  closed  before  them.  They  then  si- 
multaneously and  with  a  sudden  gesture  throw  out  their 

1  Neither  of  these  magnificent  spectaclea  is  now  to  be  seen. 
There  is  no  longer  the  Benediction  in  the  Piazza  of  St.  Peter's,  nor 
the  illumination  of  the  church. 


120  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

hands,  some  of  the  fingers  being  extended,  and  others  shut 
up  on  the  palm,  —  each  calling  out  in  a  loud  voice,  at  the 
same  moment,  the  number  he  guesses  the  fingers  extended 
by  himself  and  his  adversary  to  make.  If  neither  ciy  out 
aright,  or  if  both  cry  out  aright,  nothing  is  gained  or  lost ; 
but  if  only  one  guess  the  true  number,  he  wins  a  point. 
Thus,  if  one  throw  out  four  fingers  and  the  other  two,  he 
who  cries  out  six  makes  a  point,  unless  the  other  cry  out 
the  same  number.  The  points  are  generally  five,  though 
sometimes  they  are  doubled  ;  and  as  they  are  made,  they 
are  marked  by  the  left  hand,  which  during  the  whole 
game  is  held  stiffly  in  the  air  at  about  the  shoulders' 
height,  one  finger  being  extended  for  every  point.  When 
the  partita  is  won,  the  winner  cries  out  "  Fatto !  "  or 
"  Guadagnato  !  "  or  "  Vinto  !  "  or  else  strikes  his  hands 
across  each  other  in  sign  of  triumph.  This  last  sign  is 
also  used  when  Double  Morra  is  played,  to  indicate  that 
five  points  are  made. 

So  universal  is  this  game  in  Rome  that  the  very  beggars 
play  away  their  earnings  at  it.  It  was  only  yesterday,  as 
I  came  out  of  the  gallery  of  the  Capitol,  that  I  saw  two 
who  had  stopped  screaming  for  "  laiocchi  per  amor  di 
D'w"  to  play  pauls  against  each  other  at  Morra.  One,  a 
cripple,  supported  himself  against  a  column,  and  the  other, 
with  his  ragged  cloak  slung  on  his  shoulder,  stood  opposite 
him.  They  staked  a  paul  each  time  with  the  utmost  non- 
chalance, and  played  with  an  earnestness  and  rapidity 
which  showed  that  they  were  old  hands  at  it.  while  the 
coachmen  from  their  boxes  cracked  their  whips,  and 
jeered  and  joked  them,  and  the  shabby  circle  around 
them  cheered  them  on.  I  stopped  to  see  the  result,  and 
found  that  the  cripple  won  two  successive  games.  But 
his  cloaked  antagonist  bore  his  losses  like  a  hero ;  and 
when  all  was  over  he  did  his  best  with  the  strangers  issu- 
ing from  the  Capitol  to  line  his  pockets  for  a  new  chance. 

Nothing  is  more  simple  and  apparently  easy  than  Morra, 
yet  to  play  it  well  requires  quickness  of  perception  and 
readiness  in  the  calculation  of  chances.  As  each  player, 
of  course,  knows  how  many  fingers  he  himself  throws  out, 
the  main  point  is  to  guess  the  number  of  fingers  thrown 


GAMES  —  MORRA.  121 

by  his  opponent,  and  to  add  the  two  instantaneously  to- 
gether. A  player  of  skill  will  soon  detect  the  favorite 
numbers  of  his  antagonist;  and  it  is  curious  to  see  how 
remarkably  clever  some  of  them  are  in  divining,  from  the 
movement  of  the  hand,  the  number  to  be  thrown.  The 
game  is  always  played  with  great  vivacity,  the  hands  being 
flung  out  with  vehemence,  and  the  numbers  shouted  at  the 
full  pitch  of  the  voice,  so  as  to  be  heard  at  a  considerable 
distance.  It  is  from  the  sudden  opening  of  the  fingers, 
while  the  hands  are  in  the  air,  that  the  old  Roman  phrase, 
micare  digitis,  "  to  flash  with  the  fingers,"  is  derived. 

A  bottle  of  wine  is  generally  the  stake  ;  and  round  the 
osterias,  of  afesta-d&y,  when  the  game  is  played  after  the 
blood  has  been  heated  and  the  nerves  strained  by  previous 
potations,  the  regular  volleyed  explosions  of  "  Tre ! 
Cinque  !  Otto  !  Tutti  !  "  are  often  interrupted  by  hot  dis- 
cussions. But  these  are  generally  settled  peacefully  by 
the  bystanders,  who  act  as  umpires,  —  and  the  excitement 
goes  off  in  talk.  The  question  arises  almost  invariably 
upon  the  number  of  fingers  flashed  out ;  for  an  unscrupu- 
lous player  has  great  opportunities  of  cheating,  by  holding 
a  finger  half  extended,  so  as  to  be  able  to  close  or  open 
it  afterwards  according  to  circumstances  ;  but  sometimes 
the  losing  party  will  dispute  as  to  the  number  called  out. 
The  thumb  is  the  father  of  all  evil  at  Morra,  it  being 
often  impossible  to  say  whether  it  was  intended  to  be 
closed  or  not,  and  an  unskilful  player  is  easily  deceived  in 
this  matter  by  a  clever  one.  When  "  Tutti  "  is  called,  all 
the  fingers,  thumb  and  all,  must  be  extended,  and  then  it 
is  an  even  chance  that  a  discussion  will  take  place  as  to 
whether  the  thumb  was  out.  Sometimes,  when  the  blood 
is  hot,  and  one  of  the  parties  has  been  losing,  violent 
quarrels  will  arise,  which  the  umpires  cannot  decide  ;  and, 
in  very  rare  cases,  knives  are  drawn  and  blood  is  spilled. 
Generally  these  disputes  end  in  nothing ;  and,  often  as  I 
have  seen  this  game,  I  have  never  been  a  spectator  of  any 
quarrel,  though  discussions  numberless  I  have  heard.  But, 
beyond  vague  stories  by  foreigners,  in  which  I  put  no  con- 
fidence, the  vivacity  of  the  Italians  easily  leading  persons 
unacquainted  with  their  characters  to  mistake  a  very  peace- 


122  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

able  talk  for  a  violent  quarrel,  I  know  of  only  one  case 
that  ended  tragically.  There  a  savage  quarrel,  begun  at 
Morra,  was  with  difficulty  pacified  by  the  bystanders,  and 
one  of  the  parties  withdrew  to  an  osteria  to  drink  witli  his 
companions.  But  while  he  was  there,  the  rage  which  had 
been  smothered,  but  not  extinguished,  in  the  breast  of  his 
antagonist,  blazed  out  anew.  Rushing  at  the  other,  as  he 
sat  by  the  table  of  the  osteria,  he  attacked  him  fiercely 
with  his  knife.  The  friends  of  both  started  at  once  to  their 
feet,  to  interpose  and  tear  them  apart ;  but  before  they 
could  reach  them,  one  of  the  combatants  dropped  bleeding 
and  dying  on  the  floor,  and  the  other  fled  like  a  maniac 
from  the  room. 

This  readiness  of  the  Italians  to  use  the  knife,  for  the 
settlement  of  every  dispute,  is  generally  attributed  by 
foreigners  to  the  passionateness  of  their  nature  ;  but  I  am 
inclined  to  believe  that  in  some  measure  it  results  from 
their  entire  distrust  of  the  possibility  of  legal  redress  in  the 
courts.  "Where  courts  are  organized  as  they  were  in 
Naples,  who  but  a  fool  would  trust  to  them  ?  Open  tri- 
bunals, where  justice  is  impartially  administered,  would 
soon  check  private  assassinations ;  and  were  there  more 
honest  and  efficient  police-courts,  there  would  be  far  fewer 
knives  drawn.  The  Englishman  invokes  the  aid  of  the 
law,  knowing,  that  he  can  count  upon  prompt  justice  ;  take 
that  belief  from  him,  he,  too,  like  Harry  Gow,  would 
"  fight  for  his  own  hand,"  In  the  half  organized  society 
of  the  less  civilized  parts  of  the  United  States,  the  pistol 
and  bowie-knife  are  as  frequent  arbiters  of  disputes  as  the 
stiletto  is  among  the  Italians.  But  it  would  be  a  gross 
error  to  argue  from  this,  that  the  Americans  are  violent 
and  passionate  by  nature ;  for  among  the  same  people  in 
the  older  States,  where  justice  is  cheaply  and  strictly  ad- 
ministered, the  pistol  and  bowie-knife  are  almost  unknown. 
Despotism  and  slavery  nurse  the  passions  of  men ;  and 
wherever  law  is  loose,  or  courts  are  venal,  public  justice 
assumes  the  shape  of  private  vengeance. 

The  farther  south  one  goes  in  Italy,  the  more  frequent 
is  violence  and  the  more  unrepressed  are  the  passions. 
Compare  Piedmont  with  Naples  and  Sicily,  and  the  differ- 


GAMES  — ANTIQUITY  OF  MORRA.  123 

ence  is  immense.  The  dregs  of  vice  and  violence  settle  to 
the  south.1 

But  to  return  to  Morra.  As  I  was  walking  out  heyond 
the  Porta  San  Giovanni  the  other  day,  I  heard  the  most 
ingenious  and  consolatory  periphrasis  for  a  defeat  that  it 
was  ever  my  good  fortune  to  hear ;  and  as  it  shows  the 
peculiar  humor  of  the  Romans,  it  may  here  have  a  place. 
Two  of  a  party  of  contadini  had  been  playing  at  Morra, 
the  stakes  heing,  as  usual,  a  hottle  of  wine,  and  each,  in 
turn,  had  lost  and  won.  A  lively  and  jocose  discussion  now 
arose  between  the  friends  on  the  one  side,  and  the  players 
on  the  other,  —  the  former  claiming  that  each  of  the  latter 
was  to  pay  his  bottle  of  wine  for  the  game  he  lost  (to  be 
drunk  of  course  by  all),  and  the  latter  insisting  that,  as 
one  loss  offset  the  other,  nothing  was  to  be  paid  by  either. 
As  I  passed,  one  of  the  players  was  speaking.  "  Ilprimo 
partito,"  he  said,  "  ho  guadagnato  io;  e  poi,  -nelsecondo," 
—  here  a  pause,  —  "  ho  per  so  la  vittoria."  ("  The  first 
game  I  won  ;  the  second,  I  —  lost  the  victory.")  And 
with  this  happy  periphrasis,  our  friend  admitted  his  defeat. 
I  could  not  but  think  how  much  better  it  would  have  been 
for  the  French,  if  this  ingenious  mode  of  adjusting  with 
the  English  the  Battle  of  Waterloo  had  ever  occurred  to 
them.  To  admit  that  they  were  defeated  was  of  course 
impossible  ;  but  to  acknowledge  that  they  "  lost  the  victory  " 
would  by  no  means  have  been  humiliating.  This  would 
have  soothed  their  irritable  national  vanity,  prevented  many 
heart-burnings,  saved  long  and  idle  arguments  and  terrible 
"•  kicking  against  the  pricks,"  and  rendered  a  friendly 
alliance  possible. 

No  game  has  a  better  pedigree  than  Morra.  It  was 
played  by  the  Egyptians  more  than  two  thousand  years 
before  the  Christian  era.  In  the  paintings  at  Thebes,  and 
in  the  temples  of  Beni-Hassan,  seated  figures  may  be  seen 
playing  it,  —  some  keeping  their  reckoning  with  the  left 
hand  uplifted,  —  some  striking  off  the  game  with  both 

1  (1886. )  Still,  after  sixteen  years  of  "  Union  and  Liberty,"  the 
knife  is  as  much  as  ever  the  arbiter  of  quarrels  in  Rome.  Old  habits 
are  a  second  nature,  and  it  will  take  many  a  year  and  many  a  change 
in  the  administration  of  the  law  before  they  can  be  eradicated. 


124  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

hands,  to  show  that  it  was  won,  —  and,  in  a  word,  using 
the  same  gestures  as  the  modern  Romans.  From  Egypt 
it  was  introduced  into  Greece.  The  Romans  brought  it 
from  Greece  at  an  early  period,  and  it  has  existed  among 
them  ever  since,  having  suffered  apparently  no  alteration. 
Its  ancient  Roman  name  was  Micatio,  and  to  play  it  was 
called  micare  diaitis,  —  (to  flash  with  the  fingers,)  —  the 
modern  name  Morra  heing  merely  a  corruption  of  the 
verb  micare.  Varro  describes  it  precisely  as  it  is  now 
played  ;  and  Cicero,  in  the  first  book  of  his  treatise  "  De 
Divinatione,"  thus  alludes  to  it :  "  Quid  enim  est  sors  ? 
Idem  propemodum  quod  micare,  quod  talos  jacere,  quod 
tesseras  ;  quibus  in  rebus  temeritas  et  casus,  non  ratio  et 
concilium  valent."  So  common  was  it,  that  it  became  the 
basis  of  an  admirable  proverb,  to  denote  the  honesty  of  a 
person  :  "  Dignus  est  quicum  in  tenebris  mices."  ("  So 
trustworthy,  that  one  may  play  Morra  with  him  in  the 
dark.")  At  one  period  they  carried  their  love  of  it  so  far 
that  they  used  to  settle  by  micatio  the  sales  of  merchan- 
dise and  meat  in  the  Forum,  until  Apronius,  prefect  of  the 
city,  prohibited  the  practice  in  the  following  terms,  as  ap- 
pears by  an  old  inscription,  which  is  particularly  interest- 
ing as  containing  an  admirable  pun  :  "Sub  exagio  potius 
pecora  vender e  quam  digitis  concludentibus  trader e."  — 
(''  Sell  your  sheep  by  the  balance,  and  do  not  bargain  or 
deceive  "  [tradere  having  both  these  meanings]  "  by  open- 
ing and  shutting  your  fingers  at  Morra.'") 

One  of  the  various  kinds  of  the  old  Roman  game  of  Pila 
still  survives  under  the  modern  name  of  Pallone.  It  is 
played  between  two  sides,  each  numbering  from  five  to 
eight  persons.  Each  of  the  players  is  armed  with  a  brac- 
ciale,  or  gauntlet  of  wood,  covering  the  hand  and  extend- 
ing nearly  up  to  the  elbow,  with  which  a  heavy  ball  is 
beaten  backwards  and  forwards,  high  into  the  air,  from 
one  side  to  the  other.  The  object  of  the  game  is  to  keep 
the  ball  in  constant  flight,  and  whoever  suffers  it  to  fall 
dead  within  his  bounds  loses.  It  may,  however,  be  struck 
in  its  first  rebound,  though  the  best  strokes  are  before  it 
touches  the  ground.  The  gauntlets  are  hollow  tubes  of 


GA  MES  —  PALL  ONE.  125 

wood,  thickly  studded  outside  with  pointed  bosses,  project- 
ing an  inch  and  a  half,  and  having  inside,  across  the  end, 
a  transverse  bar,  which  is  grasped  by  the  hand,  so  as  to 
render  them  manageable  to  the  wearer.  The  balls,  which 
are  of  the  size  of  a  large  cricket-ball,  are  made  of  leather, 
and  so  heavy,  that,  when  well  played,  they  are  capable  of 
breaking  the  arm  unless  properly  received  on  the  gauntlet. 
They  are  inflated  with  air,  which  is  pumped  into  them 
with  a  long  syringe,  through  a  small  aperture  closed  by  a 
valve  inside.  The  game  is  played  on  an  oblong  figure 
marked  out  on  the  ground,  or  designated  by  the  wall 
around  the  sunken  platform  on  which  it  is  played  ;  and 
across  the  centre  is  drawn  a  transverse  line,  dividing 
equally  the  two  sides.  Whenever  a  ball  either  falls  out- 
side the  lateral  boundary,  or  is  not  struck  over  the  central 
line,  it  counts  against  the  party  playing  it.  When  it  flies 
over  the  extreme  limits,  it  is  called  a  volata,  and  is  reck- 
oned the  best  stroke  that  can  be  made.  At  the  end  of 
the  lists  is  a  spring-board,  on  which  the  principal  player 
stands.  The  best  batter  is  always  selected  for  this  post ; 
the  others  are  distributed  about.  Near  him  stands  the 
pallonaio,  whose  office  is  to  keep  the  balls  well  inflated 
with  air,  and  he  is  busy  nearly  all  the  time.  Facing  him, 
at  a  short  distance,  is  the  mandarino,  who  gives  ball.  As 
soon  as  the  ball  leaves  the  mandarino' s  hand,  the  chief 
batter  runs  forward  to  meet  it,  and  strikes  it  as  far  and 
high  as  he  can,  with  the  gauntlet.  Four  times  in  succes- 
sion have  I  seen  a  good  player  strike  a  volata,  with  the 
loud  applause  of  the  spectators.  When  this  does  not 
occur,  the  two  sides  bat  the  ball  backwards  and  forwards, 
from  one  to  the  other,  sometimes  fifteen  or  twenty  times 
before  the  point  is  won ;  and  as  it  falls  here  and  there, 
now  flying  high  in  the  air  and  caught  at  once  on  the  gaunt- 
let before  touching  the  ground,  now  glancing  back  from 
the  wall  which  generally  forms  one  side  of  the  lists,  the 
players  rush  eagerly  to  hit  it,  calling  loudly  to  each  other, 
and  often  displaying  great  agility,  skill,  and  strength.  The 
interest  now  becomes  very  exciting  ;  the  bystanders  shout 
when  a  good  stroke  is  made,  and  groan  and  hiss  at  a  miss, 
until  finally  the  ball  is  struck  over  the  lists,  or  lost  within 


126  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

them.  The  points  of  the  game  are  fifty,  —  the  first  two 
strokes  counting  fifteen  each,  and  the  others  ten  each. 
When  one  side  makes  the  fifty  before  the  other  has  made 
anything,  it  is  called  a  marcio,  and  counts  double.  "When 
both  parties  count  forty,  the  caller  cries  out  "  alle  due" 
and  the  count  is  carried  back  on  both  sides  to  thirty,  so 
that  two  successive  counts  must  be  made  by  one  to  win  the 
game.  As  each  point  is  made,  it  is  shouted  by  the  caller, 
who  stands  in  the  middle  and  keeps  the  count,  and  pro- 
claims the  bets  of  the  spectators  ;  and  after  each  game  "  si 
passa ''  —  or  an  "  over  "  —  is  taken,  the  two  sides  changing 
position. 

The  game  is  as  national  to  the  Italians  as  cricket  to  the 
English;  it  is  not  only,  as  it  seems  to  me,  much  more  in- 
teresting than  the  latter,  but  requires  vastly  more  strength, 
agility,  and  dexterity,  to  play  it  well.  The  Italians  give 
themselves  to  it  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  their  nature, 
and  many  a  young  fellow  injures  himself  for  life  by  the 
fierceness  of  his  batting.  After  the  excitement  and  stir 
of  this  game,  which  only  the  young  and  athletic  can  play 
well,  cricket  seems  a  dull  affair. 

The  game  of  Pallone  has  always  been  a  favorite  in 
Rome  ;  and  near  the  summit  of  the  Quattro  Fontane,  in 
the  Barberini  grounds,  is  a  circus,  which  was  built  specially 
for  public  exhibitions  of  it  during  the  summer  afternoons.1 
At  these  representations,  the  most  renowned  players  were 
engaged  by  an  impresario.  The  audience  was  generally 
large,  and  the  entrance  fee  was  one  paul.  Wonderful 
feats  were  sometimes  performed  here  ;  and  on  the  wall 
are  marked  the  heights  of  some  remarkable  volate.  The 
players  wore  a  loose  jacket  with  ruffles,  and  light  breeches 
and  stockings,  the  two  sides  wearing  different  colors.  The 
contests,  generally,  were  fiercely  disputed,  —  the  spectators 
betting  heavily,  and  shouting,  as  good  or  bad  strokes  were 
made.  Sometimes  a  line  was  extended  across  the  amphi- 
theatre, from  wall  to  wall,  over  which  it  was  necessary  to 
strike  the  ball,  a  point  being  lost  in  case  it  passed  below. 
But  this  is  a  variation  from  the  game  as  ordinarily  played, 
and  can  be  ventured  on  only  by  the  most  skilful  players. 
1  See  page  96. 


GAMES— PALLONE.  127 

During  the  occupation  by  the  French,  the  games  here  were 
suspended,  for  the  foreign  garrison  not  only  seized  the 
post-office,  to  convert  it  into  a  club-room,  and  the  piano 
nobile  of  some  of  the  richest  palaces,  to  serve  as  barracks 
for  their  soldiers,  but  also  drove  the  Romans  from  their 
amphitheatre,  where  Pallone  was  played,  to  make  it  into 
ateliers  de  genie.  But  since  their  departure  Prince  Bar- 
berini  has  again  fitted  up  this  arena  admirably,  and  the 
game  is  now  to  be  seen  daily  in  the  afternoon,  after  the 
middle  of  May,  through  the  summer.  There  are  boxes 
at  each  end,  covered  with  strong  iron  network,  to  protect 
the  occupants  against  the  balls,  which  are  often  driven 
against  them  with  great  force.  Along  the  arena  chairs 
are  placed,  also  behind  a  network,  and  above  them  a 
loyrjia,  where  one  may  sit  under  the  green  shade  of  the 
overhanging  trees  and  enjoy  the  game,  and  sip  a  sherbet 
or  a  glass  of  wine. 

One  may  also  see  the  game  played  by  ordinary  players 
—  but  not  strictly  according  to  that  "  rigor  of  the  game  " 
which  Sarah  Battle,  of  Elian  fame,  so  strongly  insisted 
upon  —  towards  the  twilight  of  any  summer  day,  in  the 
Piazza  di  Termini,  or  near  the  Tempio  della  Pace,  or  the 
Colosseo.  The  boys  from  the  studios  and  shops  also  play 
in  the  streets  a  sort  of  mongrel  game  called  Pillotta,  beat- 
ing a  small  ball  back  and  forth,  with  a  round  bat,  shaped 
like  a  small  tamburello  and  covered  with  parchment.  But 
the  real  game,  played  by  skilful  players,  may  be  seen 
almost  every  summer  night  outside  the  Porta  a  Pinti,  in 
Florence  ;  and  I  have  also  seen  it  admirably  played  under 
the  fortress  wall  at  Siena,  the  players  being  dressed  entirely 
in  white,  with  loose  ruffled  jackets,  breeches,  long  stock- 
ings, and  shoes  of  undressed  leather,  and  the  spectators 
sitting  round  on  the  stone  benches,  or  leaning  over  the 
lofty  wall,  cheering  on  the  game,  while  they  ate  the  cher- 
ries or  zucca-seeds  which  were  hawked  about  among  them 
by  itinerant  pedlars.  Here,  towards  twilight,  one  could 
lounge  away  an  hour  pleasantly  under  the  shadow  of  the 
fortress,  looking  now  at  the  game  and  now  at  the  rolling 
country  beyond,  where  olives  and  long  battalions  of  vines 
marched  knee-deep  through  the  golden  grain,  until  the 


128  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

purple  splendors  of  sunset  had  ceased  to  transfigure  the 
distant  hills,  and  the  crickets  chirped  louder  under  the 
deepening  gray  of  the  sky. 

In  the  walls  of  the  amphitheatre  at  Florence  is  a  hust 
in  colored  marble  of  one  of  the  most  famous  players  of  his 
day,  whose  hattered  face  seems  still  to  preside  over  the 
game,  getting  now  and  then  a  smart  blow  from  the  Pallone 
itself,  which,  in  its  inflation,  is  no  respecter  of  persons. 
The  honorable  inscription  beneath  the  bust,  celebrating 
the  powers  of  this  champion,  who  rejoiced  in  the  surname 
of  Earthquake,  is  as  follows  :  — 

"  Josephus  Barnius,  Petiolensis,  vir  in  jactando  reper- 
cutiendoque  folle  singularis,  qui  ob  robur  ingens  maxi- 
mamque  artis  peritiam,  et  collusores  ubique  devictos, 
Terrcemotus  formidabili  cognomento  dictus  est." 

Poets,  also,  have  celebrated  this  manly  game  ;  and  who- 
ever would  read  a  noble  poem  will  find  it  in  the  spirited 
Ode,  "  To  a  Player  at  Pallone,"  by  Leopardi ;  while  who- 
ever prefers  a  biting  satire  will  find  it  in  the  poem  by 
Belli,  in  Romanesco  dialect,  entitled  "  Er  giucator  de 
Pallone." 

Another  favorite  game  of  ball  among  the  Romans  is 
Bocce  or  Boccette.  It  is  played  between  two  sides,  con- 
sisting of  any  number  of  persons,  each  of  whom  has  two 
large  wooden  balls  of  about  the  size  of  an  average  Ameri- 
can nine-pin  ball.  Besides  these,  there  is  a  little  ball 
called  the  lecco.  This  is  rolled  first  by  one  of  the  winning 
party  to  any  distance  he  pleases,  and  the  object  is  to  roll 
or  pitch  the  boccette  or  large  balls  so  as  to  place  them  beside 
the  lecco.  Every  ball  of  one  side  nearer  to  the  lecco  than 
any  ball  of  the  other  counts  one  point  in  the  game  —  the 
number  of  points  depending  on  the  agreement  of  the  par- 
ties. The  game  is  played  on  the  ground,  and  not  upon 
any  smooth  or  prepared  plane  ;  and  as  the  lecco  often 
runs  into  hollows,  or  poises  itself  on  some  uneven  declivity, 
it  is  sometimes  a  matter  of  no  small  difficulty  to  play  the 
other  balls  near  to  it.  The  great  skill  of  the  game  con- 
sists, however,  in  displacing  the  balls  of  the  adverse  party 
so  as  to  make  the  balls  of  the  playing  party  count,  and  a 


GAMES  — RUZZOLA  AND  DOM1NOS.          129 

clever  player  will  often  change  the  whole  aspect  of  affairs 
by  one  well  directed  throw.  The  balls  are  thrown  alter- 
nately, —  first  by  a  player  on  one  side,  and  then  by  a  player 
on  the  other.  As  the  game  advances,  the  interest  increases, 
and  there  is  a  constant  variety.  However  good  a  throw 
is  made,  it  may  be  ruined  by  the  next.  Sometimes  the 
ball  is  pitched  with  great  accuracy,  so  as  to  strike  a  close- 
counting  ball  far  into  the  distance,  while  the  new  ball 
takes  its  place.  Sometimes  the  lecco  itself  is  suddenly 
transplanted  into  a  new  position,  which  entirely  reverses 
all  the  previous  counting.  It  is  the  last  ball  which  decides 
the  game,  and  of  course  it  is  eagerly  watched.  Jn  the 
Piazza  delle  Terme  numerous  parties  may  be  seen  every 
bright  day  in  summer  or  spring  playing  this  game  under 
the  locust-trees,  surrounded  by  idlers,  who  stand  by  to 
approve  or  condemn,  and  to  give  their  advice.  The 
French  soldiers,  free  from  drill  or  guard,  or  from  prac- 
tising trumpet-calls  on  the  old  Agger  of  Servius  Tullius 
near  by,  are  sure  to  be  rolling  balls  in  this  fascinating 
game.  Having  heated  their  blood  sufficiently  at  it,  they 
adjourn  to  a  little  osteria  in  the  Piazza  to  refresh  them- 
selves with  a  glass  of  asciutto  wine,  after  which  they  sit 
on  a  bench  outside  the  door,  or  stretch  themselves  under 
the  trees,  and  take  a  siesta,  with  their  handkerchiefs  over 
their  eyes,  while  other  parties  take  their  turn  at  the  bocce. 
Meanwhile,  from  the  Agger  beyond  are  heard  the  distress- 
ing trumpets  struggling  with  false  notes  and  wheezing  and 
shrieking  in  ludicrous  discord,  while  now  and  then  the 
solemn  bell  of  Santa  Maria  Maggiore  tolls  from  the 
neighboring  hill. 

Another  favorite  game  in  Rome  and  Tuscany  is  Ruz- 
zola,  so  called  from  the  circular  disk  of  wood  with  which  it 
is  played.  Round  this  the  player  winds  tightly  a  cord, 
which,  by  a  sudden  cast  and  backward  jerk  of  the  hand, 
he  uncoils  so  as  to  send  the  disk  whirling  along  the  road. 
Outside  the  walls,  and  along  all  the  principal  avenues  lead- 
ing to  the  city,  parties  are  constantly  to  be  met  playing  at 
this  game  ;  and  oftentimes  before  the  players  are  visible 
the  disk  is  seen  bounding  round  some  curve,  to  the  great 
9 


130  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

danger  of  one's  legs.  He  whose  disk  whirls  the  farthest 
wins  a  point.  It  is  an  excellent  walking  game,  and  it  re- 
quires some  knack  to  play  the  disk  evenly  along  the  road. 
Often  the  swiftest  disks,  when  not  well  directed,  bound 
over  the  hedges,  knock  themselves  down  against  the  walls, 
or  bury  themselves  in  the  tangled  ditches  ;  and  when  well 
played,  if  they  chance  to  hit  a  stone  in  the  road,  they  will 
leap  wildly  into  the  air,  at  the  risk  of  serious  injury  to  any 
unfortunate  passer.  In  the  country,  instead  of  wooden 
disks,  the  contadini  often  use  cacio  di  capra,  a  kind  of 
hard  goat's  cheese,  whose  rind  will  resist  the  roughest 
play.  What,  then,  must  be  the  digestive  powers  of  those 
who  eat  it  may  be  imagined.  Like  the  peptic  country- 
man, they  probably  do  not  know  they  have  a  stomach,  not 
having  ever  felt  it ;  and  certainly  they  can  say  with  Tony 
Lumpkin,  "  It  never  hurts  me,  and  I  sleep  like  a  hound 
after  it." 

In  common  with  the  French,  the  Romans  have  a  passion 
for  the  game  of  Dominos.  Every  caffe  is  supplied  with  a 
number  of  boxes,  and,  in  the  evening  especially,  it  is 
played  by  young  and  old,  with  a  seriousness  which  strikes 
us  Saxons  with  surprise.  We  generally  have  a  contempt 
for  this  game,  and  look  upon  it  as  childish.  But  I  know  not 
why.  It  is  by  no  means  easy  to  play  well,  and  requires  a 
careful  memory  and  quick  powers  of  combination  and  cal- 
culation. No  caffe  in  Rome  or  Marseilles  would  be  com- 
plete without  its  little  black  and  white  counters ;  and  as  it 
interests  at  once  the  most  mercurial  and  fidgety  of  people 
and  the  laziest  and  languidest,  it  must  have  some  hidden 
charm  as  yet  unrevealed  to  the  Anglo-Saxon. 

Beside  Dominos,  Chess  (Scacchi)  is  often  played  in  pub- 
lic in  the  caffes  ;  and  there  is  one  caffb  named  Dei  Scac- 
chi, because  it  is  frequented  by  the  best  chess-players  in 
Rome.  Here  matches  are  often  made,  and  admirable 
games  are  played. 

Among  the  Roman  boys  the  game  of  Campana  is  also 
common.  A  parallelogram  is  drawn  upon  the  ground  and 
subdivided  into  four  squares,  which  are  numbered.  At 
the  top  and  bottom  are  two  small  semicircles,  or  bells, 
thus : — 


GAMES  —  LOTTER  Y. 


131 


G 

l 

2 

3 

4 

Each  of  the  players,  having  deposited  his  stake  in  the 
semicircle  (&)  at  the  farthest  end,  takes  his  station  at  a 
short  distance,  and  endeavors  to  pitch  some  object,  either 
a  disk  or  a  bit  of  terra-cotta,  or  more  generally  a  bawcco, 
into  one  of  the  compartments.  If  he  lodge  it  in  the  near- 
est bell  (a),  he  pays  a  new  stake  into  the  pool;  if  into  the 
farthest  bell  (b) ,  he  takes  the  whole  pool ;  if  into  either  of 
the  other  compartments,  he  takes  one,  two,  three,  or  four 
of  the  stakes,  according  to  the  number  of  the  compartment. 
If  he  lodge  on  a  line,  he  is  abbrucciato,  as  it  is  termed,  and 
his  play  goes  for  nothing.  Among  the  boys  the  pool  is  fre- 
quently filled  with  buttons,  —  among  the  men,  with  baioc- 
chi  ;  but  buttons  or  baiocchi  are  all  the  same  to  the  play- 
ers, —  they  are  the  representatives  of  luck  or  skill. 

Still  another  and  very  common  game  in  Rome,  which  is 
worthy  of  notice  here  simply  because  of  its  ancient  pedi- 
gree, is  a  game  played  with  walnuts.  Four  or  five  of 
these  are  piled  pyramidally  together,  when  the  players, 
withdrawing  to  a  short  distance,  pitch  another  walnut  at 
them,  and  he  who  succeeds  in  striking  and  dispersing  the 
heap  wins.  Tliis  is  manifestly  the  game  played  by  the 
little  boys  of  ancient  Rome,  and  alluded  to  by  the  author 
of  the  u  Nux  Elegia  "  : — 

' '  Quatuor  in  nucibus,  non  amplius,  alea  tota  est ' 
Cum  tibi  suppositis  additur  una  tribus." 

But  the  game  of  games  in  Rome  is  the  Lottery.  This 
is  under  the  direction  of  the  government,  which  has  organ- 
ized it  into  a  means  of  raising  revenue.  The  financial  ob- 
jection to  this  method  of  taxation  is,  that  its  hardest  press- 
ure is  upon  the  poorest  classes ;  but  the  moral  and  politi- 
cal objections  are  still  stronger.  The  habit  of  gambling 
engendered  by  it  ruins  the  temper,  depraves  the  morals, 
and  keeps  up  a  constant  state  of  excitement  at  variance 

1  In  stakes  of  nuts  the  gambling  boys  agree, 
Three  placed  below,  a  fourth  to  crown  the  three. 


132  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

with  any  settled  and  serious  occupation.  The  temptations 
to  laziness  which  it  offers  are  too  great  for  any  people 
luxurious  or  idle  hy  temperament ;  and  the  demon  of  Luck 
is  set  upon  the  altar  which  should  be  dedicated  to  Industry. 
If  one  happy  chance  can  bring  a  fortune,  who  will  spend 
laborious  days  to  gain  a  competence  ?  The  common  classes 
in  Rome  are  those  who  are  most  corrupted  by  the  lottery ; 
and  when  they  can  neither  earn  nor  borrow  baiocchi  to 
play,  they  strive  to  obtain  them  by  beggary,  cheating,  and 
sometimes  by  theft.  The  fallacious  hope  that  their  ticket 
will  some  day  bring  a  prize  leads  them  from  step  to  step, 
until,  having  emptied  their  purses,  they  are  tempted  to 
raise  .the  necessary  funds  by  any  justifiable  means.  When 
you  pay  them  their  wages  or  throw  them  a  bnona-mano, 
they  instantly  run  to  the  lottery-office  to  play  it.  Loss 
after  loss  does  not  discourage  them.  It  is  always  the  next 
time  they  are  to  win,  —  there  was  a  slight  mistake  in  their 
calculation  before.  Some  good  reason  or  other  is  always 
at  hand.  If  by  chance  one  of  them  does  happen  to  win 
a  large  sum,  it  is  ten  to  one  that  it  will  cost  him  his  life, 
—  that  he  will  fall  into  a  fit,  or  drop  in  an  apoplexy,  on 
hearing  the  news.  There  is  a  most  melancholy  instance 
of  this  in  the  very  next  house,  —  of  a  Jew  made  suddenly 
and  unexpectedly  rich,  who  instantly  became  insane  in 
consequence,  and  is  now  the  most  wretched  and  melan- 
choly spectacle  that  man  can  ever  become,  —  starving  in 
the  midst  of  abundance,  and  moving  like  a  beast  about  his 
house.  But  of  all  ill-luck  that  can  happen  to  the  lottery- 
gambler,  the  worst  is  to  win  a  small  prize.  It  is  all  over 
with  him  from  that  time  forward  ;  into  the  great  pit  of  the 
lottery  everything  that  he  can  lay  his  hands  on  is  sure  to  go. 
There  has  been  some  difference  of  opinion  as  to  whether 
the  lottery  was  of  later  Italian  invention,  or  dated  back  to 
the  Roman  Empire  —  some  even  contending  that  it  was  in 
existence  in  Egypt  long  before  that  period ;  and  several 
ingenious  discussions  may  be  found  on  this  subject  in  the 
journals  and  annals  of  the  French  savans.  A  strong  claim 
has  been  put  forward  for  the  ancient  Romans,  on  the 
ground  that  Nero,  Titus,  and  Heliogabalus  were  in  the 
habit  of  writing  on  bits  of  wood  and  shells  the  names  of 


GAMES— LOTTERY.  133 

various  articles  which  they  intended  to  distribute,  and  then 
casting  them  to  the  crowd  to  be  scrambled  for.1  On 
some  of  these  shells  and  billets  were  inscribed  the  names 
of  slaves,  precious  vases,  costly  dresses,  articles  of  silver 
and  gold,  valuable  beasts,  etc.,  which  became  the  prop- 
erty of  the  fortunate  persons  who  secured  the  billets  and 
shells.  On  others  were  written  absurd  and  useless  articles, 
which  turned  the  laugh  against  the  unfortunate  finder. 
Some,  for  instance,  had  inscribed  upon  them  ten  pieces  of 
gold,  and  some  ten  cabbages.  Some  were  for  one  hun- 
dred bears,  and  some  for  one  egg.  Some  for  five  camels, 
and  some  for  ten  flies.  In  one  sense,  these  were  lotteries, 
and  the  emperors  deserve  all  due  credit  for  their  inven- 
tion. But  the  lottery  according  to  its  modern  signification 
is  of  Italian  origin,  and  had  its  birth  in  Upper  Italy  as 
early  as  the  fourteenth  or  fifteenth  century.  Here  it  was 
principally  practised  by  the  Venetians  and  Genoese,  under 
the  name  of  Borsa  di  Ventura,  —  the  prizes  consisting 
originally,  not  of  money,  but  of  merchandise  of  every  kind, 
—  precious  stones,  pictures,  gold  and  silver  work,  and 
similar  articles.  The  great  difference  between  them  and 
the  ancient  lotteries  of  Heliogabalus  and  Nero  was,  that 
tickets  were  bought  and  prizes  drawn.  The  lottery  soon 
came  to  be  played,  however,  for  money,  and  was  consid- 
ered so  admirable  an  invention  that  it  was  early  imported 
into  France,  where  Francis  L,  in  1539,  granted  letters- 
patent  for  the  establishment  of  one.  In  the  seventeenth 
century  this  "  infezione,"  as  an  old  Italian  writer  calls  it, 
was  introduced  into  Holland  and  England,  and  at  a  still 
later  date  into  Germany.  Those  who  invented  it  still  re- 
tain it ;  but  those  who  adopted  it  have  rejected  it.  After 
nearly  three  centuries'  existence  in  France,  it  was  abol- 
ished on  the  31st  of  December,  1835.  The  last  draw- 
ing was  at  Paris,  on  the  27th  of  the  same  month,  when  the 
number  of  players  was  so  great  that  it  became  necessary  to 
close  the  offices  before  the  appointed  time,  and  one  Eng- 
lishman is  said  to  have  gained  a  quaterno  of  the  sum  of 
one  million  two  hundred  thousand  francs.  When  abol- 
ished in  France,  the  government  was  drawing  from  it  a 
net  revenue  of  twenty  millions  of  francs. 

1  See  Dessault,Trcu'fe'  de  fa  Passion  du  Jeu. 


134  ROBA  DI  ROMA, 

In  Italy  the  lottery  was  proscribed  by  Innocent  XII., 
Benedict  XIII.,  and  Clement  XII.  But  it  was  soon  re- 
vived. It  was  not  without  vehement  opposers  then  as  now, 
as  may  be  seen  by  a  little  work  published  at  Pisa  in  the 
early  part  of  the  last  century,  entitled,  "  L'  Inganno  non 
conosciuto,  oppure  non  voluto  concscere,  nell'  Estrazione 
de  Lotto."  Muratori,  in  1696,  calls  it,  in  "  Annals  of 
Italy,"  "  Inventione  dell'  amara  malizia  per  succiare  il 
sangue  dei  malaccorti  giuocatori."  In  a  late  number  of 
the  "  Civilta  Cattolica,"  published  at  Rome  by  the  Jesuits 
(the  motto  of  which  is  "  Beatiis  Populus  cujus  Domimis 
Deus  est"),  there  is,  on  the  other  hand,  an  elaborate  and 
most  Jesuitical  article,  in  which  the  lottery  is  defended 
with  amusing  skill.  What  Christendom  in  general  has 
agreed  to  consider  immoral  and  pernicious  in  its  effects  on 
a  people  seems,  on  the  contrary,  to  the  writer  of  this  article, 
to  be  highly  moral  and  commendable. 

The  numbers  which  can  be  played  are  from  one  to 
ninety.  Of  these  only  five  are  now  drawn.  Originally 
the  numbers  drawn  were  eight  (otto) ;  and  it  is  said  that 
the  Italian  name  of  this  game,  lotto,  was  derived  from  this 
circumstance.  The  player  may  stake  upon  one,  two,  three, 
four,  or  five  numbers,  —  but  no  ticket  can  be  taken  for 
more  than  five  ;  and  he  may  stake  upon  his  ticket  any  sum, 
from  one  baiocco  up  to  five  scudi,  —  but  the  latter  sum 
only  in  case  he  play  upon  several  chances  on  the  same 
ticket.  If  he  play  one  number,  he  may  either  play  it  al 
posto  assegnato,  according  to  its  place  in  the  drawing,  as 
first,  second,  third,  etc. ,  —  or  he  may  play  it  senza  posto, 
without  place,  in  which  case  he  wins,  if  the  number  come 
anywhere  among  the  five  drawn.  In  the  latter  case,  how- 
ever, the  prize  is  much  less  in  proportion  to  the  sum  staked. 
Thus,  for  one  baiocco  staked  al  posto  assegnato,  a  scudo 
may  be  won  ;  but  to  gain  a  scudo  on  a  number  senza  posto, 
seven  baiocchi  must  be  played.  A  sum  staked  upon  two 
numbers  is  called  an  ambo,  —  on  three,  a  terno,  —  on  four, 
a  (juaterno,  —  and  on  five,  a  cinquino  ;  and  of  course  the 
prizes  increase  in  rapid  proportion  to  the  numbers  played, 
—  the  sum  gained  multiplying  very  largely  on  each  addi- 
tional number.  For  instance,  if  two  baiocchi  be  staked 


GAMES  — NUMBERS  IN  THE  LOTTERY.     135 

on  an  ambo,  the  prize  is  one  scudo  ;  but  if  the  sum  be 
staked  on  a  terno,  the  prize  is  a  hundred  scudi.  When  an 
ambo  is  played  for,  the  same  two  numbers  may  be  played 
as  single  numbers,  either  al  posto  or  senza  posto,  and  in 
such  case  one  of  the  numbers  alone  may  win.  So,  also,  a 
terno  may  be  played  so  as  to  include  an  ambo,  and  a  qua- 
terno  so  as  to  include  a  terno  and  ambo,  and  a  dnquino  so 
as  to  include  all.  But  whenever  more  than  one  chance  is 
played  for,  the  price  is  proportionately  increased.  For  a 
simple  terno  the  limit  of  price  is  thirty-five  pauls.  The 
ordinary  rule  is  to  play  for  every  chance  within  the  num- 
bers taken  ;  but  the  common  people  rarely  attempt  more 
than  a  terno.  If  four  numbers  are  played  with  all  their 
chances,  they  are  reckoned  as  four  terni,  and  paid  for 
accordingly.  If  five  numbers  are  taken,  the  price  is  for 
five  terni. 

Where  two  numbers  are  played  there  is  always  an  aug- 
ment to  the  nominal  prize  of  twenty  per  cent.  ;  where 
three  numbers  are  played,  the  augment  is  of  eighty  per 
cent.  ;  and  from  every  prize  is  deducted  ten  per  cent.,  to 
be  devoted  to  the  hospitals  and  the  poor.  The  rule  creat- 
ing the  augments  was  decreed  by  Innocent  XIII.  Such  is 
the  rage  for  the  lottery  in  Rome,  as  well  as  in  all  the 
Italian  States,  and  so  great  is  the  number  of  tickets  bought 
within  the  year,  that  this  tax  on  the  prizes  brings  in  a  very 
considerable  revenue  for  the  eleemosynary  pui-poses.  To 
each  number  is  assigned  25,000  scudi  to  cover  its  losses. 

The  lottery  is  a  branch  of  the  department  of  finance, 
and  is  under  the  direction  of  a  Monsignore.  The  tickets 
originally  issue  from  one  grand  central  office  in  the  Palazzo 
Madama  ;  but  there  is  scarcely  a  street  in  Rome  without 
some  subsidiary  and  distributing  office,  which  is  easily  rec- 
ognized, not  only  by  the  great  sign  of  "  Prenditoria  di 
Lotti  "  over  the  door,  but  by  scores  of  boards  set  round 
the  windows  and  doorway,  on  which  are  displayed,  in 
large  figures,  hundreds  of  combinations  of  numbers  for 
sale.  The  large  show  of  placards  would  to  a  stranger 
indicate  a  very  considerable  investment ;  yet,  in  point  of 
fact,  as  the  tickets  rarely  cost  more  than  a  few  baiocchi, 
the  amount  risked  is  small.  No  ticket  is  available  for  a 


136  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

prize,  unless  it  bear  the  stamp  and  signature  of  the  central 
office,  as  well  as  of  the  distributing  shop,  if  bought  in  the 
latter. 

Every  Saturday,  at  noon,  the  lottery  is  drawn  in  Rome, 
in  the  Piazza  Madama.  Half  an  hour  before  the  ap- 
pointed time,  the  Piazza  begins  to  be  thronged  with  ticket- 
holders,  who  eagerly  watch  a  large  balcony  of  the  sombre 
i  old  Palazzo  Madama  (built  by  the  infamous  Catherine  de' 
Medici),  where  the  drawing  is  to  take  place.  This  is  cov- 
ered by  an  awning  and  colored  draperies.  In  front,  and 
fastened  to  the  balustrade,  is  a  glass  barrel,  standing  on 
thin  brass  legs  and  turned  by  a  handle.  Five  or  six  per- 
sons are  in  the  balcony,  making  arrangements  for  the 
drawing.  These  are  the  officials,  —  one  of  them  being 
the  government  officer,  and  the  other  persons  taken  at 
random,  to  supervise  the  proceedings.  The  chief  official 
first  takes  from  the  table  beside  him  a  slip  of  paper  on 
which  a  number  is  inscribed.  He  names  it  aloud,  passes 
it  to  the  next,  who  verifies  and  passes  it  on,  until  it  has 
been  subjected  to  the  examination  of  all.  The  last  person 
then  proclaims  the  number  in  a  loud  voice  to  the  populace 
below,  folds  it  up,  and  drops  it  into  the  glass  barrel.  This 
operation  is  repeated  until  every  number  from  one  to 
ninety  is  passed,  verified  by  all,  proclaimed,  folded,  and 
dropped  into  the  barrel.  The  last  number  is  rather  sung 
than  called,  and  with  more  ceremony  than  all  the  rest. 
The  crowd  shout  back  from  below.  The  bell  strikes  noon. 
A  blast  of  trumpets  sounds  from  the  balcony,  and  a  boy 
dressed  in  white  robes  advances  from  within,  ascends  the 
steps,  and  stands  high  up  before  the  people,  facing  the 
Piazza.  The  barrel  is  then  whirled  rapidly  round  and 
round,  so  as  to  mix  in  inextricable  confusion  all  the  tick- 
ets. This  over,  the  boy  lifts  high  his  right  hand,  makes 
the  sign  of  the  cross  on  his  breast,  then,  waving  his  open 
hand  in  the  air,  to  show  that  nothing  is  concealed,  plunges 
it  into  the  barrel,  and  draws  out  a  number.  This  he  hands 
to  the  official,  who  names  it  and  passes  it  along  the  line  of 
his  companions.  There  is  dead  silence  below,  all  listen- 
ing eagerly.  Then,  in  a  loud  voice,  the  number  is  sung 
out  by  the  last  official,  "  Primo  estratto,  numero  14,"  or 


GAMES  —  DRAWING   OF  THE  LOTTERY.    137 

whatever  the  number  may  be.  Then  sound  the  trumpets 
again,  and  there  is  a  rustle  and  buzz  among  the  crowd. 
All  the  five  numbers  are  drawn  with  like  ceremony,  and 
then  all  is  over.  Within  a  surprisingly  short  space  of 
time,  these  numbers  are  exhibited  in  the  long  frames 
which  are  to  be  seen  over  the  door  of  every  Prenditoria, 
di  Lotti  in  Rome,  and  there  they  remain  until  the  next 
drawing  takes  place.  The  boy  who  does  the  drawing  be- 
longs to  a  college  of  orphans,  an  admirable  institution,  at 
which  children  who  have  lost  both  parents  and  are  help- 
less are  lodged,  cared  for,  and  educated,  and  the  members 
of  which  are  employed  to  perform  this  office  in  rotation, 
receiving  therefor  a  few  scudi. 

It  will  be  seen  from  the  manner  in  which  the  drawing 
of  the  lottery  is  conducted,  that  no  precaution  is  spared  by 
the  government  to  assure  the  public  of  the  perfect  good 
faith  and  fairness  observed  in  it.  This  is,  in  fact,  abso- 
lutely necessary  in  order  to  establish  that  confidence  with- 
out which  its  very  object  would  be  frustrated.  But  the 
Italians  are  a  very  suspicious  arid  jealous  people ;  and  I 
fear  that  there  is  less  faith  in  the  uprightness  of  the  gov- 
ernment than  in  their  own  watchfulness  and  the  difficulty 
of  deception.  There  can  be  little  doubt  that  no  deceit  is 
practised  by  the  government  so  far  as  the  drawing  is  con- 
cerned, for  it  would  be  nearly  impossible  to  employ  it; 
Still  there  are  not  wanting  stories  of  fortunate  coincidences 
which  are  singular  and  interesting.  One  case,  which  I 
have  every  reason  to  believe  authentic,  was  related  to  me 
by  a  most  trustworthy  person,  as  being  within  his  own 
knowledge.  A  few  years  ago  the  Monsignore  who  was  at 
the  head  of  the  lottery  had  occasion  to  diminish  his  house- 
hold, and  accordingly  dismissed  an  old  servant  who  had 
been  long  in  his  palace.  Often  the  old  man  returned  and 
asked  for  relief,  and  as  often  was  charitably  received. 
But  his  visits  at  last  became  importunate,  and  the  Monsig- 
nore remonstrated.  The  answer  of  the  servant  was,  "  I 
have  given  my  best  years  to  your  Eminence ;  I  am  too 
old  to  labor,  —  what  shall  I  do  ?  "  The  case  was  a  hard 
one.  His  Eminence  paused  and  reflected ;  —  at  last  he 
said,  "  Why  not  buy  a  ticket  in  the  lottery  ?  "  "  Ah  1  " 


138  ROBA   DI  ROMA. 

was  the  answer,  "  I  have  not  even  money  to  supply  my 
daily  needs.  What  you  now  give  me  is  all  I  have.  If  I 
risk  it,  I  may  lose  it,  — and  that  lost,  what  can  I  do  ?  " 
Still  the  Monsignore  said,  "  Buy  a  ticket  in  the  lottery." 
"  Since  your  Eminence  commands  me,  I  will,"  said  the  old 
man  ;  "  but  what  numbers  ?  "  "  Play  on  number  so  and 
so  for  the  first  drawing,"  was  the  answer,  "  and  God  bless 
you ! "  The  servant  did  as  he  was  ordered,  and,  to  his 
surprise  and  joy,  the  first  number  drawn  was  his.  He  was 
a  rich  man  for  life,  —  and  his  Eminence  lost  a  troublesome 
dependant. 

A  capital  story  is  told  by  the  author  of  the  article  in  the 
"  Civilta  Cattolica,"  which  is  to  the  point  here,  and  which, 
even  were  it  not  told  on  such  respectable  authority,  bears 
its  truth  on  the  face  of  it.  As  very  frequently  happens,  a 
poor  shopkeeper,  being  hard-driven  by  his  creditors,  went 
to  his  priest,  an  uomo  apostolico,  and  prayed  him  earnestly 
to  give  him  three  numbers  to  play  in  the  lottery. 

"But  how  under  heaven,"  says  the  innocent  priest, 
"  has  it  ever  got  into  your  head  that  I  can  know  the  five 
numbers  which  are  to  issue  in  the  lottery  ?  " 

"  Eh  !  padre  mio  !  what  will  it  cost  you  ?  "  was  the 
answer.  "  Just  look  at  me  and  my  wretched  family  ;  if 
we  do  not  pay  our  rent  on  Saturday,  out  we  go  into  the 
street.  There  is  nothing  left  but  the  lottery,  and  you  can 
give  us  the  three  numbers  that  will  set  all  right." 

"  Oh,  there  you  are  again  !  I  am  ready  to  do  all  I  can 
to  assist  you,  but  this  matter  of  the  lottery  is  impossible  ; 
and  I  must  say  that  your  folly,  in  supposing  I  can  give 
you  the  three  lucky  numbers,  does  little  credit  to  your 
brains." 

"  Oh,  no  !  no  !  do  not  say  so,  Padre  mio  !  Give  me  a 
terno.  It  will  be  like  rain  in  May,  or  cheese  on  my  mac- 
aroni. On  my  word  of  honor,  I  '11  keep  it  secret.  Via  ! 
You,  so  good  and  charitable,  cannot  refuse  me  the  three 
numbers.  Pray  content  me  this  once." 

"  My  son,  I  will  give  you  a  rule  for  always  being  con- 
tent :  —  Avoid  Sin,  think  often  on  Death,  and  behave  so  as 
to  deserve  Paradise,  —  and  so  "  — 

"  Basta  !  basta  f  Padre  mio  I  That 's  enough.  Thanks ! 
thanks !  God  will  reward  you." 


GAMES  — LUCKY  NUMBERS.  139 

And  making  a  profound  reverence,  off  the  shopkeeper 
rushes  to  his  house.  There  he  takes  down  the  "  Libro  dei 
Sogni,"  calls  into  consultation  his  wife  and  children,  and, 
after  a  long  and  earnest  discussion  and  study,  the  three 
numbers  corresponding  to  the  terms  Sin,  Death,  and  Para- 
dise are  settled  upon,  and  away  goes  our  friend  to  play 
them  in  the  lottery.  Will  you  believe  it  ?  —  the  three 
numbers  are  drawn,  —  and  the  joy  of  the  poor  shopkeeper 
and  his  family  may  well  be  imagined.  But  what  you  will 
not  imagine  is  the  persecution  of  the  poor  uomo  apostolico 
which  followed.  The  secret  was  all  over  town  the  next 
day,  and  he  was  beset  by  scores  of  applicants  for  numbers. 
Vainly  he  protested,  declaring  that  he  knew  nothing  about 
it,  and  that  the  man's  drawing  the  right  numbers  was  all 
chance.  Every  word  he  said  turned  into  numbers,  and 
off  ran  his  hearers  to  play  them.  He  was  like  the  girl  in 
the  fairy  story,  who  dropped  pearls  every  time  she  spoke. 
The  worst  of  the  imbroglio  was,  that  in  an  hour  the  good 
priest  had  uttered  words  equivalent  to  all  the  ninety  num- 
bers in  the  lottery,  and  the  players  were  all  at  loggerheads 
with  each  other.  Nor  did  this  persecution  cease  for  weeks, 
—  until  those  who  had  played  the  numbers  corresponding 
to  his  words  found  themselves,  as  the  Italians  say,  with 
only  flies  in  their  hands. 

The  stupidity  of  many  of  these  common  people  in  re- 
gard to  these  numbers  is  wonderful.  When  the  number 
drawn  is  next  to  the  number  they  have,  they  console  them- 
selves with  thinking  they  were  within  one  of  it,  —  as  if  in 
such  cases  a  miss  were  not  as  bad  as  a  mile.  But  when 
the  number  drawn  is  a  multiple  of  the  one  they  play,  it  is 
a  sympathetic  number,  and  is  next  door  to  winning ;  and  if 
the  number  come  reversed,  —  as  if,  having  played  12,  it 
come  out  21,  —  he  laughs  with  delight.  "  Eh,  don't  you 
see,  you  stupid  fellow,"  said  the  chemist  of  a  village  one 
day  to  a  dunce  of  a  peasant,  of  whose  infallible  terno  not 
a  single  number  had  been  drawn,  —  "don't  you  see,  in 
substance  all  your  three  numbers  have  been  drawn  ?  and 
it 's  shameful  in  you  to  be  discontented.  Here  you  have 
played  8  —  44  —  26,  and  instead  of  these  have  been  drawn 
7  —  11  —  62.  Well !  just  observe !  Your  8  is  within  only 


140  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

one  point  of  being  7 ;  your  44  is  in  substance  11,  for  4 
times  1 1  are  44  exactly ;  and  your  26  is  nothing  more  nor 
less  than  precisely  62  reversed ;  — what  would  you  ask 
more?"  And  by  his  own  mode  of  reasoning,  the  poor 
peasant  sees  as  clearly  as  possible  that  he  has  really  won, 
—  only  the  difficulty  is  that  he  cannot  touch  the  prize 
without  correcting  the  little  variations.  Ma,  pazienza  ! 
he  came  so  near  this  time  that  he  will  be  sure  to  win  the 
next ;  and  away  he  goes  to  hunt  out  more  sympathetic 
numbers,  and  to  rejoice  with  his  friends  on  coming  so  near 
winning. 

This  peculiarity  of  the  common  people  has  been  amus- 
ingly exhibited  by  Belli  in  one  of  his  sonnets,  which  is 
evidently  from  life.  It  is  entitled  — 

Li  DILETTANTI  DEL  LOTTO. 

Come  diavolo  mai  me  so'  accecato 

A  nun  capi  la  gabbola  del  Mago ! 

Ma  ssenti :  —  1'  incontrai  sabbito  al  Lago ; 

Disce :  —  "  E  da  iieri  che  nun  ho  maggnato." 

Lo  porto  all'  osteria ;  —  lui  maggna ;  —  lo  pago : 

L'  oste  sparecchia ;  e  doppo  sparecchiato 

Er  mago  pijja  un  cane  111  accucciato, 

E  jje  lega  la  coda  co'  un  spago. 

lo  fo  un  am lio :  tre  er  cane ;  e  coda  er  nove. 

Ebbe  !  azzeechesce  un  po  ?  ppe'  pprim'  astratto 

Vi£  ffora  come  un  razzo  er  trenta  nove. 

Ma  eh  ?  ppoteva  dammelo  ppiu  cchiaro  ? 

Nun  1'  averia  cap'ito  puro  un  gatto  ? 

L'  aveva  da  lega,  pporco-somaro !  1 

Dreams  of  numbers  are,  of  course,  very  frequent  —  and 
are  justly  much  prized.  Yet  one  must  know  how  to  use 
them,  and  be  brave  and  bold,  or  the  opportunity  is  lost. 

1  How  the  devil  was  I  ever  so  blind 
As  not  to  understand  the  cabala  of  that  magician  1 
Just  listen :  —  I  met  him  Saturday  at  the  Lake ; 
He  said,  "  Since  yesterday  I  have  eaten  nothing." 
I  carry  him  to  the  osteria ;  —  he  eats  —  I  pay  : 
The  host  clears  the  table ;  and  after  having  cleared  it 
The  magician  takes  a  dog  that  is  lying  there, 
And  he  ties  a  string  upon  his  tail. 
I  play  an  ambo :  3  for  the  dog  —  9  for  his  tail. 
Well !  just  think  of  it !  —  at  the  first  drawing 
Out  like  a  spoke  comes  a  39. 
Just  see  !  could  he  have  told  me  plainer  ? 
Would  not  a  very  cat  have  understood  him  ? 
Pig — donkey  that  I  am,  I  should  have  joined  the  numbers  ! 


GAMES —  NUMBERS  IN  T1IE  LOTTERY.     141 

I  myself  once  dreamed  of  having  gained  a  terno  in  the  lot- 
tery, but  was  fool  enough  not  to  play  it, — and  in  conse- 
quence lost  a  prize,  the  very  numbers  coming  up  in  the 
next  drawing.  The  next  time  I  have  such  a  dream, 
of  course  I  shall  play ;  but  perhaps  I  shall  be  too  late, 
and  only  lose.  And  this  recalls  to  my  mind  a  story, 
which  may  serve  as  a  warning  to  the  timid  and  an  en- 
couragement to  the  bold.  An  Englishman  who  had 
lived  on  bad  terms  with  a  very  quarrelsome  and  annoy- 
ing wife  (according  to  his  own  account,  of  course),  had 
finally  the  luck  (I  mean  the  misfortune)  to  lose  her. 
He  had  lived  long  enough  in  Italy,  however,  to  say 
" Pazienza"  and  buried  his  sorrows  and  his  wife  in  the 
same  grave.  But  after  the  lapse  of  some  time,  his  wife  ap- 
peared to  him  in  a  dream,  and  confessed  her  sins  towards 
him  during  her  life,  and  prayed  his  forgiveness,  and 
added,  that  in  token  of  reconciliation  he  must  accept  three 
numbers  to  play  in  the  lottery,  which  would  certainly 
win  a  great  prize.  But  the  husband  was  obstinate,  and  ab- 
solutely refused  to  follow  the  advice  of  a  friend  to  whom 
he  recounted  the  odd  dream,  and  who  urged  him  to  play 
the  numbers.  "  Bah !  "  he  answered  to  this  good  counsel ; 
"  I  know  her  too  well  —  she  never  meant  well  to  me  during 
her  life,  and  I  don't  believe  she  's  changed  now  that  she 's 
dead.  She  only  means  to  play  me  a  trick,  and  make  me 
lose.  But  I  'm  too  old  a  bird  to  be  taken  with  her  chaff." 
"  Better  play  them,"  said  his  friend,  and  they  separated. 
In  the  course  of  a  week  they  met  again.  "  By  the  way," 
said  the  friend,  "  did  you  see  that  your  three  numbers 
came  up  in  the  lottery  this  morning  ?  "  "  The  devil  they 
did  !  What  a  consummate  fool  I  was  not  to  play  them  !  " 
"  You  did  n't  play  them  ?  "  "  No  !  "  "  Well,  I  did,  and 
won  a  good  round  sum  with  them  too."  So  the  obstinate 
husband,  angry  at  his  ill-luck,  cursed  himself  for  a  fool, 
and  had  his  curses  for  his  pains.  That  very  night,  how- 
ever, his  wife  again  appeared  to  him,  and,  though  she 
reproached  him  a  little  for  his  want  of  faith  in  her  (no 
woman  could  be  expected  to  forego  such  an  opportunity, 
even  though  she  were  dead),  yet  she  forgave  him,  and 
added,  —  "  Think  no  more  about  it  now,  for  here  are  three 


142  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

more  numb'ers  just  as  good."  The  husband,  who  had 
eaten  the  bitter  fruit  of  experience,  was  determined  at  all 
events  not  to  let  his  fortune  slip  again  through  his  fingers, 
and  played  the  highest  possible  terno  in  the  lottery,  and 
waited  anxiously  for  the  next  drawing.  He  could  scarcely 
eat  his  breakfast  for  nervousness  that  morning,  —  but  at 
last  mid-day  sounded,  and  the  drawing  took  place,  but  no 
one  of  his  numbers  came  up.  "  Too  late !  taken  in  !  "  he 
cried.  "  Confound  her ;  she  knew  me  better  than  I  knew 
myself.  She  gave  me  a  prize  the  first  time,  because  she 
knew  I  would  n't  play  it ;  and  having  thus  whetted  my 
passions,  she  then  gave  me  a  blank  the  second  time,  because 
she  knew  I  would  play  it.  I  might  have  known  better." 

From  the  moment  one  lottery  is  drawn,  the  mind  of  the 
people  is  intent  on  selecting  numbers  for  the  next.  Nor 
is  this  an  easy  matter,  —  all  sorts  of  superstitions  existing 
as  to  figures  and  numbers.  Some  are  lucky,  some  un- 
lucky, in  themselves,  —  some  lucky  only  in  certain  com- 
binations, and  some  sympathetic  with  others.  The 
chances,  therefore,  must  be  carefully  calculated,  no  num- 
ber or  combination  being  ever  played  without  profound 
consideration,  and  under  advice  of  skilful  friends.  Al- 
most every  event  of  life  has  a  numerical  signification  ; 
and  such  is  the  reverence  paid  to  dreams,  that  a  large 
book  exists  of  several  hundred  pages,  called  the  '•  Libro 
dei  Sogni,"  containing,  besides  various  cabala  and  mystical 
figures  and  lists  of  numbers  which  are  ''  sympathetic," 
with  directions  for  their  use,  a  dictionary  of  thousands  of 
objects  with  the  numbers  supposed  to  be  represented  by 
each,  as  well  as  rules  for  interpreting  into  numbers  all 
dreams  in  which  these  objects  appear  —  and  this  book  is 
the  constant  vade  mecum  of  a  true  lottery-player.  As 
Boniface  lived,  ate,  and  slept  on  his  ale,  so  do  the  Romans 
on  their  numbers.  They  are  scrawled  over  the  ruins,  on 
the  shop-doors,  on  the  sides  of  the  houses,  and  are  given 
in  the  almanacs.  The  very  children  "  lisp  in  numbers, 
for  the  numbers  come,"  and  the  fathers  run  immediately 
to  play  them.  Accidents,  executions,  deaths,  apoplexies, 
marriages,  assassinations,  births,  anomalies  of  all  kinds, 
become  auguries  and  enigmas  of  numbers.  A  lottery- 


GAMES  — LIBRO  DEI  SOGNL  143 

gambler  will  count  the  stabs  on  a  dead  body,  the  drops  of 
blood  from  a  decollated  head,  the  passengers  in  an  over- 
turned coach,  the  wrinkles  in  the  forehead  of  a  new-born 
child,  the  gasps  of  a  person  struck  by  apoplexy,  the  day 
of  the  month  and  the  hour  and  the  minute  of  his  death, 
the  scudi  lost  by  a  friend,  the  forks  stolen  by  a  thief,  any- 
thing and  everything,  to  play  them  in  the  lottery.  If  a 
strange  dream  is  dreamed,  —  as  of  one  being  in  a  desert 
on  a  camel,  which  turns  into  a  rat,  and  runs  down  into  the 
church  to  hide,  —  the  "  Libro  dei  Sogni "  is  at  once  con- 
sulted, the  numbers  for  desert,  rat,  camel,  and  church  are 
found  and  combined,  and  the  hopeful  player  waits  in  eager 
expectation  of  a  prize.  Of  coui'se,  dream  after  dream  of 
particular  numbers  and  combinations  occurs,  —  for  the 
inind  bent  to  this  subject  plays  freaks  in  the  night,  and 
repeats  contortedly  the  thoughts  of  the  day,  —  and  these 
dreams  are  considered  of  special  value.  Sometimes,  when 
a  startling  incident  takes  place  with  a  special  numerical 
signification,  the  run  upon  the  numbers  indicated  becomes 
so  great,  that  the  government,  which  is  always  careful  to 
guard  against  any  losses  on  its  own  part,  refuses  to  allow 
more  than  a  certain  amount  to  be  played  on  them,  cancels 
the  rest,  and  returns  the  price  of  the  tickets. 

In  the  church  of  Sant  Agostino  at  Rome,  there  is  a 
celebrated  Madonna,  usually  supposed  to  be  the  work  of 
Sansovino.  It  is  in  fact  an  antique  group,  probably  rep- 
resenting Agrippina  and  the  young  Nero,  which  Sanso- 
vino with  a  few  touches  transformed  into  a  Madonna  and 
child.  But  since  it  has  been  newly  baptized  and  received 
into  the  church,  it  has  acquired  great  celebrity  for  its 
miraculous  powers  —  and  in  consequence  has  received 
from  the  devout  exceedingly  rich  presents  of  precious 
stones,  valued  at  several  thousands  of  dollars,  which  are 
hung  upon  its  neck.  A  short  time  since,  the  most  valu- 
able of  these  diamonds  were  missing ;  they  had  been 
stolen  during  the  night ;  and  scandalous  persons  went  so 
far  as  to  attribute  the  theft  to  one  of  the  priests.  How- 
ever this  may  be,  the  loss  of  these  jewels  made  a  great 
sensation  in  Rome,  and  was  the  chief  subject  of  conversa- 
tion for  days,  and  as  a  matter  of  course,  all  the  people 


144  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

rushed  to  the  "  Libro  del  Sogni,"  sought  out  the  numbers 
for  Madonna,  diamonds,  and  thief,  and  at  once  played 
them  in  the  lottery ;  and,  as  luck  would  have  it,  these  very 
numbers  were  drawn,  to  the  great  delight  of  the  people  if 
not  of  the  government,  who  thus  lost  a  large  sum  of  money. 

Another  curious  instance  has  just  occurred  on  the  occa- 
sion of  the  celebration  of  the  50th  anniversary  of  the  1st 
mass  by  the  Pope  Pius  IX.,  in  the  year  1869.  Here  evi- 
dently was  an  incident  of  which  lottery-players  would  not 
fail  to  make  use  ;  some  of  the  numbers  being  so  plainly  in- 
dicated by  the  actual  dates,  and  the  remainder  given  by 
the  "  Libro  dei  Sogni."  The  number  9  of  course  stands 
for  Pius  IX. ;  11  for  April  llth,  the  date  of  the  anniver- 
sary ;  69  for  the  year  1869  ;  50  for  the  half  century  which 
had  elapsed  since  the  first  mass ;  and  26  for  the  word 
"  mass,"  of  which  it  is  the  cabalistic  number  in  the  "  Libro 
dei  Sogni."  Upon  these  numbers,  called  "  the  numbers 
of  the  Pope,"  there  was  a  great  run,  and  the  Roman  au- 
thorities immediately  closed  the  play  upon  them.  But  the 
Italian  government,  less  superstitious,  or  less  sagacious, 
allowed  them  to  be  played  by  all  the  world.  The  "  Cor- 
respondance  de  Rome  "  of  the  24th  of  April  takes  the  lat- 
ter view  :  —  "  Le  gouvernement  Italien,  toujours  stupide 
quand  il  n'est  pas  de  mauvaise  foi,  n'avait  pas  pris  cette 
precaution,  en  sorte  que  la  plupart  des  joueurs  avaient 
librement  place  sur  '  Les  Numeros  du  Pape.'  "  Unfortu- 
nately all  five  of  the  numbers  were  drawn,  and  the  result 
was  a  disastrous  loss  to  the  government ;  or,  as  some  of 
the  clerical  journals  affirmed,  there  was  the  "  hand  of 
God"  in  the  event,  and  it  was  a  "justification  of  that 
great  word  of  Scripture,  '  Ludit  in  orbe  terrarum.'  "  Cer- 
tain it  is  that  an  immense  sum  of  money  was  won  by  the 
players  and  lost  by  the  Italian  government.  The  "  Cor- 
respondance  de  Rome,"  jubilant  on  this  result,  exclaims, 
"  Voila  ce  que  tous  les  bons  Italiens  ont  compris.  Dieu 
s'est  joue  de  1'Italie  officielle." 

In  these  matters  the  modern  Romans  are  the  true  de- 
scendants of  their  ancient  ancestors,  who  took  auguries 
from  dreams,  being  of  opinion  that  they  were  the  messen- 
gers of  the  gods,  —  for,  says  Homer,  dreams  descend  to 


GAMES-  A  UG URIES.  145 

us  from,  Jove.  They  made  lustrations  to  obtain  favorable 
dreams,  with  heated  water  taken  from  the  river,  and  for 
the  same  purpose  they  sacrificed  black  sheep  and  laid 
themselves  down  to  sleep  upon  the  warm  skin.  Instead  of 
the  popular  prejudice  which  now  exists  against  telling  one's 
dreams,  they  imagined,  on  the  contrary,  that  the  influence 
of  ill-omened  dreams  could  be  counteracted  by  repeating 
them  to  the  sun ;  and  when  Iphigenia  dreamed  that  the 
palace  in  which  she  dwelt  was  to  fall,  she  took  this 
method  to  avert  evil  consequences.  They  also  consulted 
old  women  who  had  acquired  the  reputation  for  divination 
to  interpret  their  dreams,  and  were  cleverer  at  their  trade, 
let  us  hope,  than  the  Jewesses  of  the  Ghetto.  The  most 
celebrated  in  this  art  were  the  Telmissenses  ;  and  Lucian 
makes  mention  of  one  of  this  nation,  a  certain  Aristander, 
who  was  the  interpreter  of  dreams  to  Alexander  the 
Great. 

Many  were  the  ancient  authors  who  distinguished  them- 
selves in  this  science,  and  wrote  treatises  upon  it.  Ter- 
tullian,  for  instance,  in  his  treatise  "  De  Anima,"  mentions 
among  others,  Antiphon,  Strato,  Philochorus,  Serapion, 
Cratippus,  Dionysius  Rhodius,  and  Epicharmus,  the  last 
of  whom  seems  to  have  had  the  highest  reputation  of  all 
as  an  interpreter  of  dreams.  Besides  these,  Artemidorus 
mentions  Geminius,  Pirius,  Demetrius  Phalerius,  and 
Artimon  Milesius,  the  first  of  whom  wrote  three  books  on 
this  subject,  the  second  five  books,  and  the  third  twenty- 
eight  books,  —  and  to  these  we  must  add,  Aristarchus, 
and  Ilermippus,  who  was  a  pupil  of  Philo,  and  wrote  five 
books  on  the  interpretation  of  dreams.  Of  all  these  works, 
however,  not  one  has  been  preserved  ;  still  we  possess  the 
works  of  some  celebrated  writers  on  this  subject,  among 
whom  may  be  mentioned  Artemidorus,  Astrampsicus, 
Sinesius,  Nicephorus,  and  Michael  Paleologus.  That  of 
Artemidorus  is  especially  curious  ;  it  is  in  five  books,  and 
contains  an  elaborate  account  of  the  general  rules  of  inter- 
pretation of  dreams,  and  of  the  particular  significance  of 
all  sorts  of  dreams,  as  for  instance  of  dancing,  fighting, 
hunting,  fishing,  and  other  active  exercises ;  of  planets, 
earthquakes,  and  physical  phenomena ;  of  the  various 
10 


146  ROB  A  DI  ROMA. 

gods  ;  of  the  different  parts  of  the  body  ;  of  birds,  beasts, 
reptiles,  insects,  and  even  of  matters  and  things  relating  to 
the  toilette,  and  ornaments  and  portions  of  the  dress.  In 
his  fifth  book  he  enumerates  no  less  than  ninety-five  actual 
dreams,  with  the  true  interpretation  to  be  given  of  them, 
as  well  as  of  the  events  that  followed  them  ;  and  in  one 
chapter  he  speaks  of  numbers  as  connected  with  dreams, 
though  he  merely  alludes  to  this  subject,  and  does  not  en- 
ter into  any  details. 

According  to  Artemidorus,  the  ancients  divided  dreams 
into  two  classes  —  somnia  and  insomnia  —  the  former  be- 
ing affections  of  the  mind  and  indicating  future  events, 
and  the  latter  resulting  from  more  material  conditions  of 
the  body,  and  indicative  of  the  past  or  present.  Macro- 
bius,  however,  in  his  work  "  In  Somnium  Scipionis,"  says 
there  are  five  kinds  of  dreams,  called  by  the  Romans,  som- 
nium,  visio,  oraculum,  insomnium,  and  visum  (or  phan- 
tasma),  the  latter  two  being  of  no  value  in  divination,  as 
they  resulted  from  anxiety  or  over-labor.  The  somnium 
was  the  oveipo?  of  the  Greeks  which  descended  from  the 
gods ;  the  visio  was  the  appearance  and  return  of  a  friend  ; 
the  oraculum  was  the  announcement  of  some  future  event 
by  a  parent,  a  priest,  or  a  god ;  all  of  which  forms  of 
dream  were  possessed  by  Scipio.  Macrobius  also  gives  us 
a  curious  account  of  the  symbolical  meaning  of  numbers, 
which  should  be  recommended  to  all  who  play  in  the  lot- 
tery. 

Though  the  Romans  do  not  admit  these  distinctions, 
and  are  behind  their  ancestors  in  all  that  relates  to  the 
philosophy  of  dreams,  they  have  an  equal  faith  in  their 
value  as  indicative  of  fortune  and  misfortune ;  and  a 
Roman  of  the  lower  class,  if  he  have  a  singular  dream,  is 
sure  at  once  to  tell  it  to  his  friends,  consult  upon  it,  and 
finally  play  it  in  the  lottery,  they  purchasing  the  same 
numbers  as  he ;  and  why  not,  if,  as  Tertullian  assures  us, 
"  Dreams  we  receive  from  God  "  — and  there  be  "  no  man 
so  foolish  as  never  to  have  known  any  dreams  come  true." 

The  following  extract  from  Astrampsicus  reads  so  like 
an  extract  from  one  of  the  almanacs  in  popular  use  in 
Rome,  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  believe  it  is  not 


GAMES  — DREAMS  AND  AUGURIES.          147 

modern.  "  Walking  upon  charcoal,"  he  says,  "  presages 
an  injury  by  your  enemy;  whoever  dreams  he  holds  a  bee 
in  his  hand  will  see  his  hopes  frustrated  ;  moving  slowly  in- 
dicates calamitous  voyages ;  if  you  are  glad  in  your  mind, 
it  is  a  sign  that  you  should  dwell  in  a  foreign  country  ;  the 
dream  of  stars  is  of  good  augury ;  if  you  walk  over  earth- 
enware vases,  look  out  to  avoid  the  plots  your  enemies  are 
devising  against  you  (is  not  this  thoroughly  Italian  ?)  ; 
the  appearance  of  oxen  threatens  a  misfortune ;  eating 
grapes  indicates  that  a  great  fall  of  rain  is  near ;  thunder 
heard  in  dreams  is  the  discourse  of  angels  ;  eating  figs 
denotes  vain  talk  ;  seeing  milk  is  an  indication  of  placid 
habits,  and  shows  that  you  will  escape  your  enemies ;  if 
you  dream  of  yourself  as  being  old,  expect  honors  ;  if  you 
are  naked,  fear  to  lose  your  possessions  ;  a  bad  odor  is  a 
sign  of  some  annoyance."  Whatever  we  may  say  as  to 
most  of  these  interpretations,  the  last  we  shall  all  agree  to. 
In  this  connection,  it  seems  to  me  that  I  cannot  consci- 
entiously omit  to  state  to  all  my  Roman  friends  who  draw 
auguries  and  numbers  for  the  lottery  from  dreams,  that  a 
possible  reason  why  they  are  so  often  deceived  in  their 
divinations  may  be  found  in  the  fact  that  they  are  too 
much  given  to  the  eating  of  beans.  Apollonius  Dyscolus, 
whose  testimony  on  this  subject  can  scarcely  be  impeached, 
declares  solemnly  that  beans  hinder  the  mind  from  the 
reception  of  true  dreams,  and  rather  open  the  way  to  those 
which  are  lying  and  false.  And  Diogenes  Laertius,  in  his 
"  Life  of  Pythagoras,"  says  that  this  philosopher  strictly 
prohibited  his  disciples  from  the  use  of  beans  for  various 
very  singular  reasons.  Cicero  also  declares  that  they  pre- 
vent "  that  tranquillity  of  mind  which  is  necessary  in  in- 
vestigating truth."  And  Aristotle,  Pliny,  and  Dioscorides 
agree  that  "  whoever  wishes  to  divine  the  future  should 
strictly  abstain  from  beans."  Plutarch  goes  further,  and 
says  that  the  "  head  of  polypi,"  as  well  as  leeks,  are 
also  to  be  avoided.  How,  then,  can  the  modern  Romans 
expect  to  divine  true  numbers  from  their  dreams,  when 
beans,  polypi,  and  garlic  form  so  common  an  article  of 
their  food  ?  Nor  only  this,  seasons  and  hours  must  be 
observed,  which  are  not  now  considered.  Plutarch  insists 


148  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

that  all  dreams  (insomnia)  which  occur  in  the  months 
when  the  leaves  fall  are  uncertain  and  mendacious,  be- 
cause the  spirit  is  then  disturbed  and  turbulent ;  in  like 
manner  as  grapes,  corn,  and  apples  at  that  season  are  dis- 
tended and  effervescent ;  and  besides,  only  those  dreams 
which  occur  after  midnight  are  to  be  relied  upon. 

Post  medium  noctem  quum  somnia  vera. 

This  "  I  have  thought  it  writ  down  in  my  duty  "  to  let 
my  Italian  friends  know ;  but  there  are  many  more  con- 
ditions which  they  are  bound  to  observe,  would  they  hope 
to  derive  fortunes  out  of  dreams,  which  it  is  truly  shame- 
ful in  the  "  Libro  dei  Sogni "  not  to  report. 

Sometimes  in  dreaming  of  numbers  it  is  well  not  to  be 
too  strong  in  one's  arithmetic.  A  case  lately  occurred  in 
the  house  of  a  friend,  where  an  accurate  knowledge  of  the 
multiplication  table  would  have  been  disastrous.  His 
maid-servant  had  the  luck  to  win  a  considerable  sum  in 
the  lottery  on  the  number  23.  On  her  master's  inquiry 
why  she  happened  to  pitch  on  that  number,  she  answered, 
"  You  see,  sir,  I  dreamed  the  number  7  three  nights  run- 
ning, and  I  said  to  myself,  says  I,  three  times  three  is  23, 
and  so  I  went  and  bought  that  number,  and  it  came  up." 

But  it  is  not  only  by  means  of  dreams  and  books  of 
dreams  that  the  Italians  seek  the  numbers  which  shall 
bring  them  a  prize  in  the  lottery.  Sometimes,  in  passing 
through  the  streets,  one  may  see  a  crowd  collected  about  a 
man  mounted  upon  a  chair  or  stool.  Fixed  to  a  stand  at 
his  side  or  on  the  back  of  his  chair  is  a  glass  bottle,  in 
which  are  two  or  three  hollow  manikins  of  glass,  so  ar- 
ranged as  to  rise  and  sink  by  pressure  of  the  confined  air. 
The  neck  of  the  bottle  is  cased  in  a  tin  box  which  sur- 
mounts it  and  has  a  movable  cover.  This  personage  is  a 
charlatan,  with  an  apparatus  for  divining  lucky  numbers 
for  the  lottery.  The  "  soft  bastard  Latin  "  runs  off  his 
tongue  in  an  uninterrupted  stream  of  talk,  while  he  offers 
on  a  tray  to  the  bystanders  a  number  of  little  folded  papers 
containing  a  pianeta,  or  augury,  on  which  are  printed  a 
fortune  and  a  terno.  "  Who  will  buy  a, pianeta  "  he  cries, 
"  with  the  numbers  sure  to  bring  him  a  prize  ?  He  shall 


GAMES  — MASTER   TOMMETTO'S  NUMBERS.    149 

have  his  fortune  told  him  who  buys.  Who  does  not  need 
counsel  must  surely  be  wise.  Here 's  Master  Tommetto, 
who  never  tells  lies.  And  here  is  his  brother  still  smaller 
in  size.  And  Madama  Medea  Plutonia  to  advise.  They  '11 
write  you  a  fortune  and  bring  a  prize  for  a  single  ba- 
iocco.  No  creature  so  wise  as  not  to  need  counsel.  A 
fool  I  despise,  who  keeps  his  baiocco  and  loses  his  prize. 
Who  knows  what  a  fortune  he  11  get  till  he  tries  ?  Time  's 
going,  Signori,  —  who  buys  ?  who  buys  ?  "  And  so  on  by 
the  yard.  Meantime  the  crowd  about  him  gape,  stare, 
wonder,  and  finally  put  their  hands  to  their  pockets,  out 
with  their  baiocchi,  and  buy  their  papers.  Each  then 
makes  a  mark  on  his  paper  to  verify  it,  and  returns  it  to 
the  charlatan.  After  several  are  thus  collected,  he  opens 
the  cover  of  the  tin  box,  deposits  them  therein  with  a  cer- 
tain ceremony,  and  commences  an  exhortatory  discourse 
to  the  manikins  in  the  bottle, — two  of  whom,  Maestro 
Tommetto  and  his  brother,  are  made  to  resemble  little 
black  imps,  while  Madama  Medea  Plutonia  is  dressed  alia 
Francese.  "  Fa  una  reverenza,  Maestro  Tommetto !  " 
("  Make  a  bow,  Master  Tommetto  !  ")  he  now  begins.  The 
puppet  bows.  "  Ancora  !  "  ("  Again  !  ")  Again  he  bows. 
"  Lesto,  S  ignore,  un  piccolo  giretto  !  "  ("Quick,  sir,  a 
little  turn  !  ")  And  round  whirls  the  puppet.  "  Now,  up, 
up,  to  make  a  registry  on  the  ticket !  and  do  it  conscien- 
tiously, Master  Tommetto  !  "  And  up  the  imp  goes,  and 
disappears  through  the  neck  of  the  bottle.  Then  comes  a 
burst  of  admiration  at  his  cleverness  from  the  charlatan. 
Turning  now  to  the  other  imp,  he  goes  through  the  same 
role  with  him.  "  And  now,  Madama  Medea,  make  a  rev- 
erence, and  follow  your  husband  !  " 

"  Ed  ora,  Madama  Medea,  Cospetto  ! 
Fa  una  reverenza  col  tuo  bel  petto  ! 
E  via  !  su  !  un  piccolo  giretto ! 
Lesto,  presto,  su,  sotto  il  tetto 
Al  caro  marito,  al  bello  Moretto  — 
Al  buono,  amabile,  tuo  Tommetto. ' ' 

And  up  she  goes.  A  moment  after,  down  they  all  come 
again  at  his  call ;  he  lifts  the  cover  of  the  box ;  cries, 
"  Oh !  quanta  $ei  caro,  mio  buono  Tommetto ! "  and 


150  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

triumphantly  exhibits  the  papers,  each  with  a  little  freshly 
written  inscription,  and  distributes  them  to  the  purchasers, 
Now  and  then  he  takes  from  his  pocket  a  little  bottle 
containing  a  mixture  of  the  color  of  wine,  and  a  paper 
filled  with  some  sort  of  powder,  and,  exclaiming,  "Ah! 
tu  hai  fame  e  sete,  mi  pare  f  Bisogna  die  ti  dia  da  bere 
e  manyiare  f  "  pours  them  into  the  tin  cup. 

It  is  astonishing  to  see  how  many  of  these  little  tickets  a 
clever  charlatan  will  sell  in  an  hour,  and  principally  on  ac- 
count of  the  lottery-numbers  they  contain.  The  fortunes 
are  all  the  stereotype  thing,  and  almost  invariably  warn 
you  to  be  careful  lest  you  should  be  "  tradito"  or  prom'.se 
that  you  shall  not  be  "tradito  ;  "  for  the  idea  of  betrayal 
is  the  corner-stone  of  every  Italian's  mind. 

In  not  only  permitting,  but  promoting  the  lottery,  Italy 
is  certainly  far  behind  England,  France,  and  America. 
This  system  no  longer  exists  with  us,  except  in  the  dis- 
guised shape  of  gift-enterprises,  art-unions,  and  that  un- 
pleasant institution  of  mendicant  robbery  called  the  raffle, 
and  employed  specially  by  those  "  who  have  seen  better 
days."  But  a  fair  parallel  to  this  rage  of  the  Italians  for 
the  lottery  is  to  be  found  in  the  love  of  betting,  which  is  a 
national  characteristic  of  the  English.  I  do  not  refer  to 
the  bets  upon  horse-flesh  at  Ascot,  Epsom,  and  Goodwood, 
by  which  fortunes  change  owners  in  an  hour,  and  so  many 
men  are  ruined,  but  rather  to  the  general  habit  of  betting 
upon  any  and  every  subject  to  settle  a  question,  no  matter 
how  trivial,  for  which  the  Englishman  is  everywhere  re- 
nowned on  the  Continent.  Betting  is  with  most  other  na- 
tions a  foi'm  of  speech,  but  with  Englishmen  it  is  a  serious 
fact,  and  no  one  will  be  long  in  their  company  without 
finding  an  opinion  backed  up  by  a  bet.  It  would  not  be 
very  difficult  to  parallel  those  cases  where  the  Italians  dis- 
regard the  solemnity  of  death  in  their  eagerness  for  omens 
of  lottery  numbers,  with  equally  reprehensible  and  appar- 
ently heartless  cases  of  betting  in  England.  Let  any  one 
who  doubts  this  examine  the  betting-books  at  White's  and 
Brooks's.  In  them  he  will  find  a  most  startling  cata- 
logue of  bets,  —  some  so  bad  as  to  justify  the  good  parson 
in  Walpole's  story,  who  declared  that  they  were  such  an 


GAMES  — BETTING  IN  ENGLAND.          151 

impious  set  in  this  respect  at  White's,  that,  "  if  the  last 
trump  were  to  sound,  they  would  bet  puppet-show  against 
judgment."  Let  one  instance  suffice.  A  man,  happen- 
ing to  drop  down  at  the  door  of  White's,  was  lifted  up 
and  carried  in.  He  was  insensible,  and  the  question  was, 
whether  he  were  dead  or  nr»t.  Bjts  were  at  once  given 
and  taken  on  both  sides,  and  it  being  proposed  to  bleed 
him,  those  who  had  taken  odds  that  he  was  dead  protested, 
on  the  ground  that  the  use  of  the  lancet  would  affect  the 
fairness  of  the  bet.  In  the  matter  of  play,  things  have  now 
much  changed  since  the  time  when  Mr.  Thynne  left  the 
club  at  White's  in  disgust,  because  he  had  only  won  twelve 
hundred  guineas  in  two  months.  There  is  also  a  descrip- 
tion of  one  of  Fox's  mornings,  about  the  year  1783,  which 
Horace  Walpole  has  left  us,  and  the  truth  of  which  L:>rd 
Holland  admits,  which  it  would  be  well  for  those  to  read 
who  measure  out  hard  justice  to  the  Italians  for  their  love 
of  the  lottery.  Let  us  be  fair.  Italy  is  in  these  respects 
behind  England  by  half  a  century ;  but  it  is  as  idle  to 
argue  hard-heartedness  in  an  Italian  who  counts  the  drops 
of  blood  at  a  beheading  as  to  suppose  that  the  English 
have  no  feeling,  because  in  the  bet  we  have  mentioned 
there  was  a  protest  against  the  use  of  the  lancet,  or  to  deny 
kindliness  to  a  surgeon  who  lectures  on  structure  and 
disease  while  he  removes  a  cancer. 

Vehement  protests  against  the  lottery  and  all  gaming 
are  as  often  uttered  in  Italy  as  elsewhere ;  and  among 
them  may  be  cited  this  passage  from  "  L'Asino"  by  one 
of  the  most  powerful  of  her  modern  writers,  Guerrazzi :  — 
"  Is  not  Tuscany  the  garden  of  Italy  ?  So  say  the 
Tuscans  ;  and  the  Florentines  add,  that  Florence  is  the 
Athens  of  Tuscany.  Truly,  both  seem  beautiful.  Let  us 
search  in  Tuscany.  At  Barberino  di  Mugello,  in  the 
midst  of  an  olive-grove,  is  a  cemetery  where  the  vines, 
which  have  taken  root  in  the  outer  walls  and  climbed  over 
their  summit,  fall  into  the  inclosed  space,  as  if  they  wished 
to  garland  Death  with  vine-leaves  and  make  it  smile ; 
over  the  gate,  strange  guardians  of  the  tombs,  two  fig-trees 
give  their  shadow  and  fruit  to  recompense  the  piety  of  the 
passers-by,  giving  a  fig  in  exchange  for  a  De  Profundis  ; 


152  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

while  the  ivy,  stretching  its  wanton  arms  over  the  black 
cross,  endeavors  to  clothe  the  austere  sign  of  the  Re- 
demption with  the  jocund  leaves  of  Bacchus,  and  recalls  to 
your  mind  the  mad  Phryne  who  vainly  tempted  Xeno- 
crates.  A  beautiful  cemetery,  by  my  faith !  a  cemetery 
to  arouse  in  the  body  an  intense  desire  to  die,  if  only  for 
the  pleasure  of  being  buried  there.  Now  observe.  Look 
into  my  magic-lantern.  What  figures  do  you  see  ?  A 
priest  with  a  pick  ;  after  him  a  peasant  with  a  spade ; 
and  behind  them  a  woman  with  a  hatchet ;  the  priest 
holds  a  corpse  by  the  hair ;  the  peasant  with  one  blow 
strikes  off  its  head ;  then,  all  things  being  carefully  rear- 
ranged, priest,  peasant,  and  woman,  after  thrusting  the 
head  into  a  sack,  return  as  they  came.  Attention,  now, 
for  I  change  the  picture.  What  figures  are  these  that 
now  appear  ?  A  kitchen  ;  a  fire  that  has  not  its  superior 
even  in  the  Inferno  ;  and  a  caldron,  where  the  hissing  and 
boiling  water  sends  up  its  bubbles.  Look  about,  and  what 
do  you  see  ?  Enter  the  priest,  the  peasant,  and  the  house- 
wife, and  in  a  moment  empty  a  sack  into  the  caldron. 
Lo  !  a  head  rolls  out,  dives  into  the  water,  and  floats  to 
the  surface,  now  showing  its  nape  and  now  its  face.  The 
Lord  help  us !  It  is  an  abominable  spectacle  :  this  poor 
head,  with  its  ashy  open  lips,  seems  to  say,  Give  me  again 
my  Christian  burial !  That  is  enough.  Only  take  note 
that  in  Tuscany,  in  the  beautiful  middle  of  the  nineteentli 
century,  a  sepulchre  was  violated,  and  a  sacrilege  com- 
mitted, to  obtain  from  the  boiled  head  of  a  corpse  good 
numbers  to  play  in  the  lottery  !  And  by  way  of  corollary, 
add  this  to  your  note,  that  in  Rome,  Caput  Mundi,  and 
in  Tuscany,  Garden  of  Italy,  it  is  prohibited,  under  the 
severest  penalties,  to  play  at  Faro,  Zecchinetto,  Banco- 
Fallito,  Rossa  e  Nera,  and  other  similar  games  at  cards, 
where  each  party  may  lose  the  whole  or  half  the  stakes, 
while  the  government  encourage  the  play  of  the  Lottery, 
by  which,  out  of  one  hundred  and  twenty  chances  of  win- 
ning, eighty  are  reserved  for  the  bank,  and  forty  or  so 
allowed  to  the  player.  Finally,  take  note  that  in  Caput 
Mundi,  and  in  Tuscany,  Garden  of  Italy,  Faro,  Zecchi- 
netto,  Rossa  e  Nera  were  prohibited,  as  acknowledged 


GAMES—  "IL  SORTTLEGIO."  153 

pests  of  social  existence  and  open  death  to  honest  custom 
—  as  a  set-off  for  which  deprivation,  the  game  of  Lot- 
tery is  still  kept  on  foot." 

The  extraordinary  story  here  alluded  to  by  Guerrazzi, 
improbable  as  it  seems,  is  founded  upon  fact,  and  was 
clearly  proved,  on  judicial  investigation,  a  few  years  since. 
It  is  well  known  in  Tuscany  and  forms  the  subject  of  a 
satirical  narrative  ("  II  Sortilegio  ")  by  Giusti,  a  modern 
Tuscan  poet,  of  true  fire  and  genius,  who  has  lashed  the 
vices  of  his  country  in  verses  remarkable  for  point,  idiom, 
and  power.  According-  to  him,  the  method  of  divination 
resorted  to  in  this  case  was  as  follows  :  The  sorcerer  who 
invented  it  ordered  his  dupes  to  procure,  either  at  dawn 
or  twilight,  ninety  dry  chick-peas,  called  ceci,  and  upon 
each  of  these  to  write  one  of  the  ninety  numbers  drawn  in 
the  lottery,  with  an  ink  made  of  pitch  and  lard,  which 
would  not  be  affected  by  water.  They  were  then  to 
sharpen  a  knife,  taking  care  that  he  who  did  so  should 
touch  no  one  during  the  operation ;  and  after  a  day  of 
fasting,  they  were  to  dig  up  at  night  a  body  recently 
dead,  and,  having  cut  off  the  head  and  removed  the  brain, 
they  were  to  count  the  beans  thrice,  and  to  shake  them 
thrice,  and  then,  on  their  knees,  to  put  them  one  by  one 
into  the  skull.  This  was  then  to  be  placed  in  a  caldron 
of  water  and  set  on  the  fire  to  boil.  As  soon  as  the  water 
boiled  violently,  the  head  would  be  rolled  about  so  that 
some  of  the  beans  would  be  ejected,  and  the  fii^st  three 
which  were  thus  thrown  to  the  surface  would  be  a  sure 
terno  for  the  lottery.  The  wretched  dupes  added  yet 
another  feature  of  superstition  to  insure  the  success  of  this 
horrible  device.  They  selected  the  head  of  their  curate, 
who  had  recently  died,  —  on  the  ground  that,  as  he  had 
studied  algebra,  he  was  a  great  cabalist,  and  any  numbers 
from  his  head  would  be  sure  to  draw  a  prize. 

Some  one,  I  have  no  doubt,  will  here  be  anxious  to 
know  the  numbers  that  bubbled  up  to  the  surface  ;  but  I 
am  very  sorry  to  say  that  I  cannot  gratify  their  laudable 
curiosity,  for  the  interference  of  the  police  prevented  the 
completion  of  the  sorcery.  So  the  curious  must  be  content 
to  consult  some  other  cabalist,  — 


154  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

"sull'  arte  segreta 
Di  menar  la  Fortuna  per  il  naso, 
Pescando  il  certo  nel  gran  mar  del  Caso." 

Despite  a  widespread  feeling  among  the  higher  classes 
against  the  lottery,  it  still  continues  to  exist,  for  it  has 
fastened  itself  into  the  habits  and  prejudices  of  many ; 
and  an  institution  which  takes  such  hold  of  the  passions  of 
the  people,  and  has  lived  so  long,  dies  hard.  Nor  are 
there  ever  wanting  specious  excuses  for  the  continuance  of 
this,  as  of  other  reprobated  systems,  —  of  which  the  strong- 
est is,  that  its  abolition  would  not  only  deprive  of  their 
present  means  of  subsistence  numbers  of  persons  employed 
in  its  administration,  but  would  cut  off  certain  charities 
dependent  upon  it,  amounting  to  no  less  than  forty  thou- 
sand scudi  annually.  Among  these  may  be  mentioned 
the  dowry  of  forty  scudi  which  is  given  out  of  the  profits 
received  by  the  government  at  the  drawing  of  every  lottery 
to  some  five  or  six  of  the  poor  girls  of  Rome.  The  list  of 
those  who  would  profit  by  this  charity  is  open  to  all,  and 
contains  thousands  of  names.  The  first  number  drawn  in 
the  lottery  decides  the  fortunate  persons ;  and  on  the  sub- 
sequent day,  each  receives  a  draft  for  forty  scudi  on  the 
government,  payable  on  the  presentation  of  the  certificate 
of  marriage.  On  the  accession  of  the  present  Pope, 
an  attempt  was  made  to  abolish  the  lottery  system ;  but 
these  considerations,  among  others,  had  weight  enough  to 
prevent  any  changes.  So  deeply  is  this  system  rooted  in 
the  habits  and  thoughts  of  the  people  that  it  would  be 
difficult  if  not  dangerous  to  decree  its  immediate  abolition 
—  even  the  Italian  government  has  not  as  yet  ventured  to 
interfere  with  it. 

How  deeply  it  is  rooted  in  Italy  will  appear  by  a  glance 
at  some  of  the  statistics  of  the  lottery.  The  official  report 
lately  published  in  Florence  shows  that  the  revenue  de- 
rived therefrom  by  the  Italian  Treasury  is  60,000.000 
francs,  or  nearly  as  much  as  the  proceeds  of  the  tobacco 
monopoly.  In  the  province  of  Naples,  which  contains 
868,000  inhabitants,  the  sums  paid  yearly  for  lottery 
tickets  amount  to  from  25,000,000  to  26,000,000  francs ; 
and  even  at  Turin,  where  the  mania  for  the  lottery  is 


GAMES— LOTTERY  STATISTICS.  155 

milder,  many  millions  of  francs  are  drawn  from  a  popula- 
tion of  942,000.  It  is  also  stated  that  the  books  having 
the  largest  circulation  in  the  South  are  those  which  pro- 
fess to  give  lucky  numbers,  explain  dreams,  and  describe 
various  modes  of  gaining  prizes  in  the  lottery,  by  consult- 
ing cards,  magic  diagrams,  and  cabala  of  various  kinds. 

There  is  nothing  that  the  Romans  of  the  lower  classes 
would  not  more  willingly  surrender  than  the  lottery ;  it  is 
their  joy  and  solace,  day  and  night.  Saturday,  when 
the  prizes  are  drawn,  is  the  day  of  all  the  week  to  which 
they  look  forward.  For  a  few  baiocchi  they  buy  a  golden 
dream,  which  is  like  a  ray  of  sun  in  their  dark  chamber 
of  poverty.  They  never  lose  their  hope  that  Fortune  will 
smile  upon  them  at  last,  and  every  time  she  turns  her 
back  they  say,  "  Pazienza,"  "  better  luck  another  time." 
It  is  not  necessary  to  win  ;  they  are  happy  if  they  come 
near  winning.  "Just  think,"  cries  Nicolina,  coming  in 
radiant  after  12  o'clock,  "  what  has  happened !  "  "  What !  " 
I  cry,  "  is  it  a  terno  ?  "  '» No,  no  ;  but  so  near !  my  first 
number,  71,  came  up  all  right,  and  then  16,  and  then  24, 
and  my  other  two  numbers  were  15  and  25.  Give  me 
some  more  numbers  to  play ;  I  shall  win  next  week.  So 
near  !  —  was  n't  it  near  ?  Tra  la  la,  tra  la  la,"  and  she 
dances  round  the  room. 

Though  the  play  is  generally  small,  large  fortunes  are 
sometimes  gained.  The  family  of  the  Marchese  del  Cinque, 
for  instance,  derive  their  title  and  fortune  from  the  luck 
of  an  ancestor,  who  played  and  won  the  highest  prize,  a 
Cinquino.  With  the  money  thus  acquired  he  purchased 
his  marquisate,  and  took  the  title  del  Circle,  "  of  the 
Five,"  in  reference  to  the  lucky  five  numbers.  The  Villa 
Quaranta  Cinque  in  Rome  derives  its  name  from  a  similar 
circumstance.  A  lucky  Monsignore  played  the  single 
number  of  forty-five,  al  posto,  and  with  his  winnings  built 
the  villa,  to  which  the  Romans,  always  addicted  to  nick- 
names, gave  the  name  of  Quaranta  Cinque.  This  love  of 
nicknames,  or  soprannomi,  as  they  are  called,  is,  by  the 
way,  an  odd  peculiarity  of  the  Italians,  and  it  often  occurs 
that  persons  are  known  only  thereby.  Examples  of  these, 
among  the  celebrated  names  of  Italy,  are  so  frequent  as 


156  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

to  form  a  rule  in  favor  of  the  nickname  rather  than  of  the 
real  name,  and  in  many  cases  the  former  has  utterly  oblit- 
erated the  latter.  Thus  Squint  Eye  (Guercino),  Dirty 
Tom  (Masaccio),  The  Little  Dyer  ( Tintoretto),  Great 
George  (Giorrjione),  The  Garland-Maker  (Ghirlandftio), 
Luke  of  the  Madder  (Luca  della  robbia),  The  Little  Span- 
iard (Spaynoletto),  and  The  Tailor's  Son  (Del  Sarto), 
would  scarcely  be  known  under  their  real  names  of  Bar- 
bieri,  Guido,  Robusti,  Barbarelli,  Corradi,  Ribera,  and 
Vannucchi.  The  list  might  be  very  much  enlarged  ;  but 
let  it  suffice  to  add  the  following  well-known  names,  all  of 
which  are  nicknames  derived  from  their  places  of  birth : 
Perugino,  Veronese,  Aretino,  Pisano,  Giulio,  Romano, 
Correggio,  Parmegiano. 

The  other  day  a  curious  instance  of  this  occurred  to  me 
in  taking  the  testimony  of  a  Roman  coachman.  On  being 
called  upon  to  give  the  names  of  some  of  his  companions, 
with  whom  he  had  been  in  daily  and  intimate  intercourse 
for  more  than  two  years,  he  could  only  give  their  nick- 
names ;  their  real  names  he  did  not  know,  and  had  never 
heard.  One  of  his  friends,  to  whom  I  wished  particularly 
to  write,  in  order  to  obtain  some  important  information, 
he  only  knew  under  the  extraordinary  name  of  Lo  Zoppo 
di  Spluca.  Vainly  I  sought  to  learn  his  real  name  and 
address,  he  always  gave  the  same  answer.  "  Eh,  Signore, 
I  only  know  him  by  that  name  —  '  The  lame  one  of  the 
Splugen,'  and  if  you  address  a  letter  to  him  anywhere  by 
that  name  it  will  be  sure  to  reach  him,  for  everybody 
knows  him  on  the  road."  A  little,  gay,  odd  genius,  whom 
1  took  into  my  service  during  a  villeggiatura  at  Siena, 
would  not  answer  to  his  real  name,  Lorenzo,  but  remon- 
strated on  being  so  called,  and  said  he  was  only  Pipetta 
(The  little  Pipe),  a  nickname  given  to  him  when  a  child, 
from  his  precocity  in  smoking,  and  of  which  he  wras  as 
tenacious  as  if  it  were  a  title  of  honor.  "  You  prefer, 
then,  to  be  called  Pipetta  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Felicissimo  !  s\" 
was  his  answer.  Not  a  foreigner  comes  to  Rome  that  his 
name  does  not  "  suffer  a  sea-change  into  something  rich 
and  strange."  Our  break-jaw  Saxon  names  are  discarded, 
and  a  new  christening  takes  place.  One  friend  I  had  who 


GAMES— TOMBOLA.  157 

was  called  II  Malinconico,  —  another,  La  Barbarossa,  — 
another,  II  bel  Signore,  —  another,  who  was  near-sighted, 
Quel  Cieco,  —  and  still  another,  II  lungo  Secco  ;  but  gen- 
erally they  are  called  after  the  number  of  the  house  or 
the  name  of  the  street  in  which  they  live,  —  La  Signorina 
bella  bionda  del  Palazzo  Galitzin, — II  Signore  Quatordici 
Capo  le  Case,  —  Monsieur  e  Madama  Quindici  Terzo 
Piano,  Corso,  —  La  Vecchia  brutta  del  Corso. 

But  to  return  from  this  digression.  At  every  country 
festival  may  be  seen  a  peculiar  form  of  the  lottery  called 
Tombola  ;  and  in  the  notices  of  these  festas,  which  are 
placarded  over  the  walls  of  Rome  for  weeks  before  they 
take  place,  the  eye  will  always  be  attracted  first  by  the 
imposing  word  Tombola,  printed  in  the  largest  and  black- 
est of  letters.  This  is,  in  fact,  the  characteristic  feature 
of  thefesta,  and  attracts  large  numbers  of  contadini.  As 
in  the  ordinary  lottery,  only  ninety  numbers  are  played. 
Every  ticket  contains  blank  spaces  for  fifteen  numbers, 
which  are  inserted  by  the  purchaser,  and  registered  duly 
at  the  office  or  booth  where  the  ticket  is  bought.  The 
price  of  tickets  in  any  single  Tombola  is  uniform  ;  but  in 
different  Tombole  it  varies,  of  course,  according  to  the 
amount  of  the  prizes.  These  are  generally  five,  namely, 
—  the  Ambo,  Terno,  Quaterno,  Cinquino,  and  Tombola, 
though  sometimes  a  second  Tombola  or  Tomboletta  is 
added.  The  drawing  takes  place  in  precisely  the  same 
manner  as  in  the  ordinary  lottery,  but  with  more  cere- 
mony. A  large  staging,  with  a  pavilion,  is  erected,  where 
the  officers  who  are  to  superintend  the  drawing  stand.  In 
the  centre  is  a  glass  vase,  in  which  the  numbers  are  placed 
after  having  been  separately  verified  and  proclaimed,  and 
a  boy  gayly  dressed  draws  them.  All  the  ninety  numbers 
are  drawn ;  and  as  each  issues,  it  is  called  out,  and  exhib- 
ited on  a  large  card.  Near  by  stands  a  large  framework, 
elevated  so  as  to  be  visible  to  all,  with  ninety  divisions  cor- 
responding to  the  ninety  numbers,  and  on  this,  also,  every 
number  is  shown  as  soon  as  it  is  drawn.  The  first  person 
who  has  upon  his  ticket  two  drawn  numbers  gains  an 
Ambo,  which  is  the  smallest  prize.  Whoever  first  has 
three  numbers  drawn  on  a  line  gains  a  Terno  ;  and  so  on 


158  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

with  the  Quaterno  and  Cinquino.  The  Tombola,  which 
is  the  great  prize,  is  won  by  whoever  first  has  his  whole 
fifteen  numbers  drawn.  As  soon  as  any  one  finds  two  of 
the  drawn  numbers  on  one  line  of  his  ticket,  he  cries 
''Ambo,"  at  the  top  of  his  lungs.  A  flag  is  then  raised  on 
the  pavilion,  the  band  plays,  and  the  game  is  suspended, 
while  the  claimant  at  once  makes  his  way  to  the  judges  on 
the  platform  to  present  his  ticket  for  examination.  No 
sooner  does  the  cry  of  "Ambo,"  "  Terno"  "  Quaterno" 
take  place,  than  there  is  a  great  rustle  all  around.  Every- 
body looks  out  for  the  fortunate  person,  who  is  immedi- 
ately to  be  seen  running  through  the  parting  crowd,  which 
opens  before  him,  cheering  him  as  he  goes,  if  his  appear- 
ance be  poor  and  needy,  and  greeting  him  with  sarcasms, 
if  he  be  apparently  well  to  do  in  the  world.  Sometimes 
there  are  two  or  three  claimants  for  the  same  prize,  in 
which  case  it  is  divided  among  them.  The  Ambo  is  soon 
taken,  and  there  is  little  room  for  a  mistake  ;  but  when  it 
comes  to  the  Quaterno  or  Cinquino,  mistakes  are  very 
common,  and  the  claimant  is  almost  always  saluted  with 
chaff  and  jests.  After  his  ticket  has  been  examined,  if  he 
have  won,  a  placard  is  exhibited  with  Aml>o,  Terno,  Qua- 
terno on  it,  as  the  case  may  be.  But  if  be  have  committed 
an  error,  down  goes  the  flag,  and,  amidst  a  burst  of  laugh- 
ter, jeering,  whistling,  screaming,  and  catcalls,  the  disap- 
pointed claimant  sneaks  back  and  hides  himself  in  the  ex- 
cited crowd.  At  a  really  good  Tombola,  where  the  prizes 
are  high,  there  is  no  end  of  fun  and  gayety  among  the  peo- 
ple. They  stand  with  their  tickets  in  their  hands,  congrat- 
ulating each  other  ironically,  as  they  fail  to  find  the  num- 
bers on  them,  paying  all  sorts  of  absurd  compliments  to 
each  other  and  the  drawer,  offering  to  sell  out  their 
chances  at  enormous  prices  when  they  are  behindhand,  and 
letting  off  all  sorts  of  squibs  and  jests,  not  so  excellent  in 
themselves  as  provocative  of  laughter.  If  the  wit  be  little, 
the  fun  is  great,  —  and,  in  the  excitement  of  expectation, 
a  great  deal  of  real  Italian  humor  is  often  ventilated. 
Sometimes,  at  the  country  fairs,  the  fun  is  rather  slow, 
particularly  where  the  prizes  are  small ;  but,  on  exciting 
occasions,  there  is  a  constant  small  fire  of  jests,  which  is 
amusing. 


GAMES  —  TOMBOLA.  159 

These  Tombole  are  sometimes  got  up  with  great  pomp. 
That,  for  instance,  which  sometimes  takes  place  in  the  Villa 
Borghese  is  one  of  the  most  striking  spectacles  which  can 
be  seen  in  Rome.  At  one  end  of  the  great  open-air  amphi- 
theatre is  erected  a  large  pavilion,  flanked  on  either  side 
with  covered  logge  or  palchi,  festooned  with  yellow  and 
white,  —  the  Papal  colors,  —  adorned  with  flags,  and  closed 
round  with  rich  old  arrases  pictured  over  with  Scripture 
stories.  Beneath  the  central  pavilion  is  a  band.  Midway 
down  the  amphitheatre,  on  either  side,  are  two  more  logge, 
similarly  draped,  where  two  or  more  bands  are  stationed, 
—  and  still  another  at  the  opposite  end,  for  the  same  pur- 
pose. The  logge  which  flank  the  pavilion  are  sold  by 
ticket,  and  filled  with  the  richer  classes.  Three  great 
stagings  show  the  numbers  as  they  are  drawn.  The  pit  of 
the  amphitheatre  is  densely  packed  with  a  motley  crowd. 
Under  the  ilexes  and  lofty  stone-pines  that  show  their 
dark-green  foliage  against  the  sky,  the  helmets  and  swords 
of  cavalry  glitter  as  they  move  to  and  fro.  All  around  on 
the  green  slopes  are  the  people,  —  soldiers,  peasants, 
priests,  mingled  together,  —  and  thousands  of  gay  dresses, 
ribbons,  and  parasols  enliven  the  mass.  The  four  bands 
play  successively  as  the  multitude  gathers.  They  have  al- 
ready arrived  by  thousands,  but  the  game  has  not  yet 
begun,  and  thousands  are  still  flocking  to  see  it.  All  the 
gay  equipages  are  on  the  outskirts,  and  through  the  trees 
and  up  the  avenues  stream  the  crowds  on  foot.  As  we 
stand  in  the  centre  of  the  amphitheatre  and  look  up,  we 
get  a  faint  idea  of  the  old  Roman  gatherings  when  Rome 
emptied  itself  to  join  in  the  games  at  the  Colosseum.  Row 
upon  row  they  stand,  a  mass  of  gay  and  swarming  life. 
The  sunlight  flashes  over  them,  and  blazes  on  the  rich 
colors.  The  tall  golden-trunked  pines  and  dark  ilexes 
overshadow  them  here  and  there  ;  above  them  is  the  soft 
blue  dome  of  the  Italian  sky.  They  are  gathered  round 
the  villetta,  —  they  throng  the  roof  and  balconies,  —  they 
crowd  the  stone  steps,  —  they  pack  the  green  oval  of  the 
amphitheatre's  pit.  The  ring  of  cymbals,  the  clarion  of 
trumpets,  and  the  clash  of  brazen  music  vibrate  in  the  air. 
All  the  world  is  abroad  to  see,  from  the  infant  in  arms  to 


160  ROBA   DI  ROMA. 

the  oldest  inhabitant.  Monsignori  in  purple  stockings  and 
tricornered  hats,  peasants  in  gay  reds  and  crimsons,  car- 
dinals in  scarlet.  Princes,  shopkeepers,  beggars,  foreign- 
ers, all  mingle  together  ;  while  the  screams  of  the  venders 
of  cigars,  pumpkin-seeds,  cakes,  and  lemonade  are  every- 
where heard  over  the  suppressed  sea-like  roar  of  the  crowd. 
As  you  walk  along  the  outskirts  of  the  mass,  you  may  ste 
Monte  Gennaro's  dark  peak  looking  over  the  Campagna, 
and  all  the  Sabine  hills  trembling  in  a  purple  haze,  —  or, 
strolling  down  through  the  green  avenues,  you  may  watch 
the  silver  columns  of  fountains  as  they  crumble  in  foam  and 
plash  in  their  mossy  basins,  —  or  gather  masses  of  the 
sweet  Parma  violet,  and  other  beautiful  wild  flowers. 

The  only  other  games  among  the  modern  Romans, 
which  deserve  particular  notice  from  their  peculiarity,  are 
those  of  Cards.  In  an  Italian  pack  there  are  only  forty 
cards,  —  the  eight,  nine,  and  ten  of  the  French  and  Eng- 
lish cards  having  no  existence.  The  suits  also  have  dif- 
ferent signs  and  names,  and,  instead  of  hearts,  spades, 
clubs,  and  diamonds,  they  are  called  coppe,  spade,  bastoni, 
and  denari,  —  all  being  of  the  same  color,  and  differing 
entirely  in  form  from  our  cards.  The  coppe  are  cups  or 
vases  ;  the  spade  are  swords ;  the  bastoni  are  veritable 
clubs  or  bludgeons  ;  and  the  denari  are  coins.  The  games 
are  still  more  different  from  ours  than  the  cards,  and  they 
are  legion  in  number.  There  are  Briscola,  Tresette, 
Calabresella,  Banco-FalUto,  Hossa  e  Nera,  Scaraccoccia, 
Scopa,  Spizzica,  Faraone,  Zecchinetto,  Mercante  in  Fiera, 
La  Bazzica,  Rnba-Monte,  Uowo-Nero,  La  Paura,  and  I 
know  not  how  many  others,  —  but  they  are  recorded  and 
explained  in  no  book,  and  are  only  to  be  picked  up  orally. 
Wherever  you  go  on  a  festa-day,  you  will  find  persons 
playing  cards.  At  the  common  osterias,  before  the  doors 
or  on  the  soiled  tables  within,  on  the  ruins  of  the  Caesars' 
palaces  and  in  the  Temple  of  Peace,  on  the  stone  tables 
in  the  vigna,  on  the  walls  along  the  public  roads,  on  the 
uncarved  blocks  of  marble  in  front  of  the  sculptors'  studios, 
in  the  antechambers  or  gateways  of  palaces,  —  everywhere 
cards  are  played.  Every  contndino  has  a  pack  in  his 


GAMES—  CARDS.  161 

pocket,  with  the  flavor  of  the  soil  upon  it.  The  playing 
is  ordinarily  for  very  low  sums,  often  for  nothing  at  all. 
But  there  are  some  games  which  are  purely  games  of  luck, 
and  dangerous.  Some  of  these,  as  Rosso,  e  Nera,  Banco- 
Fallito,  and  Zecchinetto,  though  prohibited  by  the  gov- 
ernment, are  none  the  less  favorite  games  in  Rome,  par- 
ticularly among  those  who  play  for  money.  Zecchinetto 
may  be  played  by  any  number  of  persons  after  the  follow- 
ing manner  :  —  The  dealer,  who  plays  against  the  whole 
table,  deals  to  each  player  one  card.  The  next  card  is 
then  turned  up  as  a  trump.  Each  player  then  makes  his 
bet  on  the  card  dealt  to  him,  and  places  his  money  on  it. 
The  dealer  then  deals  to  the  table  the  other  cards  in  erder, 
and  any  of  the  players  may  bet  on  them  as  they  are  thrown 
down.  If  a  card  of  the  number  of  that  bet  on,  issue 
before  a  card  corresponding  to  the  number  of  the  trump, 
the  dealer  wins  the  stake  on  that  card ;  but  whenever  a 
card  corresponding  to  the  trump  issues,  the  player  wins 
on  every  card  on  which  he  has  bet.  When  the  banker  or 
dealer  loses  at  once,  the  bank  "fa  toppa"  and  the  deal 
passes,  but  not  otherwise.  Nothing  can  be  more  simple 
than  this  game,  and  it  is  just  as  dangerous  as  it  is  simple, 
and  as  exciting  as  it  is  dangerous.  A  late  Roman  princi- 
pessa  is  said  to  have  been  passionately  fond  of  it,  and  to 
have  lost  enormously  by  it.  The  story  runs,  that,  while 
passing  the  evening  at  a  friend's  house,  she  lost  ten  thou- 
sand scudi  at  one  sitting,  —  upon  which  she  staked  her 
horses  and  carriage,  which  were  at  the  door  waiting  to  take 
her  home,  and  lost  them  also.  She  then  wrote  a  note  to  the 
prince,  her  husband,  saying  that  she  had  lost  her  carriage 
and  horses  at  Zecchinetto,  and  wished  others  to  be  sent 
for  her.  To  this  he  answered,  that  she  might  return  on 
foot,  —  which  she  was  obliged  to  do. 

•  This  will  serve  at  least  as  a  specimen  of  the  games  of 
chance  played  by  the  Romans  at  cards.  Of  the  more  in- 
nocent games,  Briscola,  Tresette,  and  Scaraccoccia  are 
the  favorites  among  the  common  people.  The  first  of 
these  is,  perhaps,  the  most  popular  of  all.  It  is  played 
by  either  two  or  four  persons.  The  Fante  (or  knave) 
counts  as  two  ;  the  Cavallo  (equal  to  our  queen)  as  three  ; 
11 


162  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

the  Re  (king)  as  four ;  the  three-spot  as  ten ;  and  the  ace 
as  eleven.  Three  cards  are  dealt  to  each  person,  and 
after  the  deal  the  next  card  is  turned  as  trump,  or  Bris- 
cola.  Each  plays,  arid  after  one  card  all  round  is  played, 
its  place  is  supplied  by  a  new  deal  of  one  card  to  each. 
Every  card  of  the  trump-suit  takes  any  card  of  the  other 
suits.  Each  player  takes  as  many  counting-cards  as  he 
can,  and,  at  the  end  of  the  game,  he  who  counts  the  most 
wins,  —  the  account  being  made  according  to  the  value  of 
the  cards,  as  stated  above. 

Far  better  games  than  this  are  Tresette  and  Calabre- 
sella.  These  are  the  favorites  of  the  Cardinals,  Monsig- 
nori,  and  Prelates,  when  they  play  among  themselves  in 
purely  Roman  society ;  and  so  persuaded  am  I  that  they 
will  also  be  favorites  of  yours,  that  I  deem  it  my  duty  to 
acquaint  you  with  the  rules  of  these  two  admirable  games. 
The  more  you  play  them  and  the  more  you  enter  into 
their  finesse,  the  more  you  will  enjoy  them ;  for,  though 
apparently  simple,  they  require  much  skill  and  calculation. 
At  all  events,  one  gets  tired  of  constantly  playing  whist, 
even  though  "  with  a  clean  hearth  and  the  rigor  of  the 
game,"  demanded  by  all  players  of  the  order  of  Mrs. 
Battle  ;  and  certainly  Calabresella,  which  is  played  by 
three,  is  better  than  whist  with  a  dummy.  Try  these 
games,  my  good  friend,  and  ever  after  you  will  thank  me 
and  believe  in  the  taste  of  the  Prelatura  of  Rome. 

And  first  as  to  the  general  rules.  The  Italian  cards 
being  only  forty  in  number,  you  must  throw  out  the  eight, 
nine,  and  ten  spots  of  the  French  pack.  In  playing,  the 
highest  card  in  value  is  the  three-spot,  then  the  two,  then 
the  ace,  after  which  follow  the  king,  queen,  knave,  seven, 
six,  and  so  on.  In  making  up  the  game  the  ace  counts 
one  point.  The  other  enumerated  cards,  from  the  three 
to  the  knave  inclusive,  count  one-third  of  a  point,  three 
being  required  to  make  a  point.  The  last  trick  also  counts 
one  point,  independent  of  the  cards  composing  it.  No 
card  can  take  another  unless  it  be  a  higher  card  of  the 
same  suit,  there  being  no  trumps.  The  first  hand  in  every 
trick  has  the  right,  in  playing  his  card,  to  strike  it  on  the 
table,  and  thus  to  indicate  to  his  partner  that  he  wishes 


GAMES—  CALABRESELLA.  163 

him  to  return  the  lead,  or  to  drag  it  along  the  table  to  in- 
dicate the  opposite. 

Now  as  to  the  special  rules  of  Tresette.  This  game  is 
played  between  four  persons,  who  select  partners  as  in 
whist,  and  the  cards  are  distributed,  not  one  by  one,  bat 
first  by  fours  and  then  by  threes,  until  all  are  dealt. 
After  examining  his  cards  each  player  is  bound,  before  the 
game  commences,  to  declare  or  claim  in  case  he  holds 
three  cards  of  three  spots,  three  of  two  spots,  or  three 
aces  ;  or  in  case  he  holds  what  is  called  a  " Napolltana" 
which  is  the  three,  two,  and  ace  of  one  and  the  same  suit. 
This  he  does  by  saying  "  accuso,"  I  declare  or  claim. 
But  he  is  not  bound  to  tell  what  he  claims  until  the  first 
hand  is  played.  Then  he  must  say  whether  he  claims 
three  aces,  three  twos,  three  threes,  or  a  " Napolitana" 
At  any  time  during  the  game  the  others  have  a  right  to. 
demand,  in  case  he  claim  anything  except  the  "  Napoli- 
tana" what  he  claims  ;  but  he  may  refuse  to  answer  until 
the  last  card  of  the  trick,  during  which  or  in  anticipation 
of  which  the  demand  is  made,  is  played  down.  Whoever 
holds  the  "  Napolltana"  or  three  aces,  three  twos,  or 
three  threes,  counts  three  points  on  each  series.  If  he 
hold  four  threes,  twos,  or  aces,  he  counts  four  points.  The 
game  now  commences.  Each  party  endeavors  to  take  as 
many  counting-cards  as  it  can,  and  when  all  are  played 
each  counts  according  to  the  general  rules  before  given  — 
three  cards  for  the  taking  of  the  last  trick,  three  cards  for 
every  ace,  and  one  for  each  two,  three,  king,  queen,  and 
knave.  The  number  thus  made  up  is  divided  by  three  to 
give  the  number  of  points  (a  card  being,  as  before  said, 
one-third  of  a  point),  and  to  these  are  added  the  points 
made  by  the  claim.  The  number  of  the  points  is  regu- 
lated by  agreement  at  twenty -one,  at  thirty-one,  or  at  forty- 
one.  No  card  takes  a  trick  unless  it  is  the  highest  of  the 
suit  which  is  led. 

Calabresella  is  played  by  three  persons.  Twelve  cards 
are  dealt  to  each  by  fours,  and  the  four  remaining  cards 
are  placed  on  the  table  with  their  faces  down.  The  first 
player,  after  examining  his  cards,  if  he  feels  himself 
strong  enough  to  play  against  the  other  two,  who  are  thus 


164  ROBA   Dl  ROMA. 

made  partners,  so  declares.  In  such  case  he  has  the  right 
to  demand,  first,  any  three-spot  that  he  wishes,  and  the 
person  who  holds  it  must  surrender  it  to  him,  receiving  in 
return,  before  the  playing  commences,  any  card  the  other, 
chooses  to  give.  He  then  may  turn  up  the  tour  cards  on 
the  table,  so  as  to  be  seen  by  all,  and  take  them  all  into 
his  hand,  which  he  makes  up  at  his  pleasure,  replacing 
any  four  cards  on  the  table  with  their  faces  down.  These 
the  other  players  cannot  examine,  and  they  belong  to  the 
hand  that  takes  the  last  trick.  The  party  which  makes 
the  most  points  wins,  and  the  counting  is  made  according 
to  the  general  rules  before  stated.  If  the  three  which  he 
demands  is  among  the  four  cards  on  the  table,  he  cannot 
call  for  another  three.  But  in  case  all  the  threes  are  dealt 
to  him  and  not  otherwise,  he  may  call  for  any  card  of  two- 
spots.  In  case  the  first  person  is  not  sti  ong  enough  to  play 
against  the  other  two,  he  passes  his  right  to  the  next, 
and  if  he  cannot  stand,  he  passes  it  on  to  the  third.  If 
none  accept,  the  cards  are  dealt  again.  If  the  player 
who  stands  against  the  others  forgets  to  put  four  cards  on 
the  table  in  place  of  those  he  takes  up,  he  loses  the  game. 
If  he  wins,  he  takes  the  stakes  of  each  of  the  others  ;  and 
if  he  loses  he  pays  each  the  stakes.  If  he  does  not  make 
a  single  point  he  pays  double  ;  if  he  takes  the  whole  cards 
they  pay  him  double. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

MAY  IN  ROME. 

MAY  has  come  again, —  "the  delicate-footed  May," 
her  feet  hidden  in  flowers  as  she  wanders  over  the  Cam- 
pagna,  and  the  cool  breeze  of  the  Campagna  blowing  back 
her  loosened  hair.  She  calls  to  us  from  the  open  fields  to 
leave  the  walls  of  damp  churches  and  shadowy  streets, 
and  to  come  abroad  and  meet  her  where  the  mountains 
look  down  from  the  roseate  heights  of  vanishing  snow  upon 


CARNIVAL  OF  THE  KITCHEN-GARDEN.     165 

plains  of  waving  grain.  The  hedges  have  put  on  their 
best  draperies  of  leaves  and  flowers,  and,  girdled  in  at 
their  waist  by  double  osier  bands,  stagger  luxuriantly  along 
the  road  like  a  drunken  Bacchanal  procession,  crowned 
with  festive  ivy,  and  holding  aloft  their  snowy  clusters  of 
elder-blossoms  like  thyrsi.  Among  their  green  robes  may 
be  seen  thousands  of  beautiful  wild  flowers,  —  the  sweet- 
scented  laurustinas,  all  sorts  of  running  vetches  and  wild 
sweet-pea,  the  delicate  vases  of  dewy  morning-glories, 
clusters  of  eglantine  or  sweet-brier  roses,  fragrant  acacia- 
blossoms  covered  with  bees  and  buzzing  flies,  the  gold  of 
glowing  gorses,  and  scores  of  purple  and  yellow  flowers,  of 
which  I  know  not  the  names.  On  the  gray  walls  straggle 
and  cluster  creepers,  grass,  and  the  humble  class  of  flowers 
which  go  by  the  ignoble  name  of  weeds ;  and  over  them, 
held  down  by  the  green  cord  of  the  stalk,  balance  the  rent 
balloons  of  hundreds  of  flaming  scarlet  poppies  that  seem 
to  have  fed  on  fire.  The  undulating  swell  of  the  Cam- 
pagna  is  here  ablaze  with  them  for  acres,  and  there  deep- 
ening with  glowing  grain,  or  snowed  over  by  myriads  of 
daisies.  Music  and  song,  too,  are  not  wanting  ;  hundreds 
of  birds  are  in  the  hedges.  The  lark,  "  from  its  moist 
cabinet  rising,"  rains  down  his  trills  of  incessant  song 
from  some  invisible  heights  of  blue  sky ;  and  whenever 
one  passes  the  wayside  groves,  a  nightingale  is  sure  to 
bubble  into  song.  The  oranges,  too,  are  in  blossom,  per- 
fuming the  air ;  locust-trees  are  tasselled  with  odorous 
flowers ;  and  over  the  walls  of  the  Campana  Villa  bursts  a 
cascade  of  sprays  covered  with  Banksia  roses. 

The  Carnival  of  the  kitchen-gardens  is  now  commencing. 
Peas  are  already  an  old  story,  strawberries  are  abundant, 
and  cherries  are  beginning  to  make  their  appearance,  in 
these  first  days  of  May ;  old  women  sell  them  at  every 
corner,  tied  together  in  tempting  bunches,  as  in  "  the 
cherry-orchard  "  which  Miss  Edgeworth  has  made  fairy- 
land in  our  childish  memories.  Nor  are  the  fresh  and 
tempting  ones  only  offered  for  sale.  You  will  sometimes 
hear  the  odd  and  honest  cry  of  "  Chi  vuol  cerasi  col  pa- 
drone in  casa  ?  "  —  ("  Who  wants  cherries  with  a  master 
in  the  house  ?  ")  — the  master,  who  cheapens  the  home  and 


166  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

hearthstone  he  inhabits,  being  the  maggot.  Asparagus 
also  has  long  since  come  ;  and  artichokes  make  their  daily 
appearance  on  the  table,  sliced  up  and  fried,  or  boiled 
whole,  or  coming  up  roasted  and  gleaming  with  butter, 
with  more  outside  capes  and  coats  than  an  ideal  English 
coachman  of  the  olden  times.  Here,  too,  is  fennel,  tasting 
like  anisette,  and  good  to  mix  in  the  salads.  And  great 
beans  lie  about  in  piles,  the  contadini  twisting  them  out  of 
their  thick  pods  with  their  thumbs,  to  eat  them  raw.  Nay, 
even  the  signoria  of  the  noble  families  do  the  same,  as  they 
walk  through  the  gardens,  and  think  them  such  a  luxury 
that  they  eat  them  raw  for  breakfast.  But  over  and  above 
all  other  vegetables  are  the  lettuces, .  which  are  one  of  the 
great  staples  of  food  for  the  Roman  people,  and  so  crisp, 
fresh,  delicate,  and  high-flavored,  that  he  who  eats  them 
once  will  hold  Nebuchadnezzar  no  longer  a  subject  for 
compassion,  but  rather  of  envy.  Drowned  in  fresh  olive- 
oil  and  with  a  dash  of  vinegar,  they  are  a  feast  for  the 
gods  ;  and  even  in  their  natural  state,  without  condiments, 
they  are  by  no  means  to  be  despised.  At  the  corners  of 
the  streets  they  lie  piled  in  green  heaps,  and  are  sold  at  a 
baiocco  for  five  heads.  At  noontide,  the  contadini  and 
laborers  feed  upon  them  without  even  the  condiment  of 
salt,  crunching  their  white  teeth  through  the  crisp,  wet 
leaves,  and  alternating  a  bite  at  a  great  wedge  of  bread  ; 
and  toward  nightfall,  one  may  see  carts  laden  high  up  with 
closely-packed  masses  of  them,  coming  in  from  the  Cam- 
pagna  for  the  market.  In  a  word,  the  Carnival  of  the 
kitchen-garden  has  come,  and  the  festa  of  the  vegetables, 
at  which  they  do  not  eat,  but  are  eaten. 

But  —  a  thousand,  thousand  pardons,  O  mighty  Cavolo  ; 
—  how  have  I  dared  to  omit  thy  august  name  ?  On  my 
knees,  O  potentest  of  vegetables,  I  crave  forgiveness  !  I 
will  burn  at  thy  shrine  ten  waxen  candles,  in  penance,  if 
thou  wilt  pardon  the  sin  and  shame  of  my  forgetfulness ! 
The  smoke  of  thy  altar-fires,  the  steam  of  thy  incense, 
and  the  odors  of  thy  sanctity  rise  from  every  hypaethral 
shrine  in  Rome.  Out-doors  and  in-doors,  wherever  the 
foot  wanders,  on  palatial  stairs  or  in  the  hut  of  poverty, 
in  the  convent  pottage  and  the  "  Lepre "  soup,  in  the 


CHANGES  IN  ROME.  167 

wooden  platter  of  the  beggar  and  the  silver  tureen  of  the 
prince,  thou  fillest  our  nostrils,  thou  satisfiest  our  stomach. 
Far  away,  whenever  I  inhale  thy  odor,  I  shall  think  of 
"  Roman  Joys ;  "  a  whiff  from  thine  altar  in  a  foreign  land" 
will  hear  me  back  to  the  Eternal  City,  "  the  City  of  the 
Soul,"  the  City  of  the  Cabbage,  the  home  of  the  Dioscuri, 
Cavolo  and  Broccoli !  Yes,  as  Paris  is  recalled  by  the 
odor  of  chocolate,  and  London  by  the  damp  steam  of 
malt,  so  shall  Rome  come  back  when  my  nostrils  are  filled 
with  thy  penetrative  fragrance  ! 

Saunter  out  at  any  of  the  city  gates,  or  lean  over  the 
wall  at  San  Giovanni  (and  where  will  you  find  a  more 
charming  spot?),  or  look  down  from  the  windows  of  the 
Villa  Negroni,1  and  your  eye  will  surely  fall  on  one  of 
the  Roman  kitchen-gardens,  patterned  out  in  even  rows 
and  squares  of  green.  Nothing  can  be  prettier  or  more 
tasteful  in  their  arrangement  than  these  variegated  carpets 
of  vegetables.  A  great  cistern  of  running  water  crowns 
the  height  of  the  ground,  which  is  used  for  the  purposes  of 
irrigation  ;  and  towards  nightfall  the  vent  is  opened,  and 
you  may  see  the  gardeners  unbanking  the  channelled  rows 
to  let  the  inundation  flow  through  hundreds  of  little  lanes 
of  intersection  and  canals  between  the  beds,  and  then 
banking  them  up  at  the  entrance  when  a  sufficient  quan- 
tity of  water  has  entered.  In  this  way  they  fertilize  and 
refresh  the  soil,  which  else  would  parch  under  the  con- 
tinuous sun.  And  this,  indeed,  is  all  the  fertilization  it 
needs,  so  strong  is  the  soil  all  over  the  Campagna.  The 
accretions  and  decay  of  thousands  of  years  have  covered 
it  with  a  loam  whose  richness  and  depth  are  astonishing. 
Dig  where  you  will,  for  ten  feet  down,  you  do  not  pass 
through  its  wonderfully  fertile  loam  into  gravel,  and  the 
slightest  labor  is  repaid  a  hundred-fold. 

As  one  looks  from  the  Villa  Negroni  windows  he  cannot 
fail  to  be  impressed  by  the  strange  changes  through  which 
this  wonderful  city  has  passed.  The  very  spot  on  which 
Nero,  the  insane  emperor  artist,  is  absurdly  supposed  to 

1  Alas !  the  Villa  Negroni  and  all  its  gardens  and  its  alleys  of 
oranges  are  now  gone,  and  have  given  place  to  the  railway  stations 
and  to  unpicturesque  streets  of  tall  and  crowded  houses. 


168  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

have  fiddled  while  Rome  was  burning,  has  now  become  a 
vast  kitchen-garden,  belonging  to  Prince  Massimo  (himself 
a  descendant,  as  he  claims,  of  Fabius  Cunctator),  where 
men  no  longer,  but  only  lettuces,  asparagus,  and  arti- 
chokes, are  ruthlessly  cut  down.  The  inundations  are  not 
for  mock  sea-fights  among  slaves,  but  for  the  peaceful 
purposes  of  irrigation.  And  though  the  fiddle  of  Nero 
is  only  traditional,  and  of  course  utterly  apocryphal,  the 
trumpets  of  the  French,  murdering  many  an  unhappy 
strain  near  by,  are  a  most  melancholy  fact.  In  the  bottom 
of  the  valley,  a  noble  old  villa,  covered  with  frescoes,  has 
been  turned  into  a  manufactory  of  bricks,  and  the  garden 
of  the  very  Villa  Negroni  itself  is  now  the  site  of  a  rail- 
way station.  Yet  here  the  princely  family  of  Negroni 
lived  ;  and  the  very  lady  at  whose  house  Lucrezia  Borgia 
took  her  famous  revenge  may  once  have  sauntered  under 
the  walls,  which  still  glow  with  ripening  oranges,  to  feed 
the  gold-fish  in  the  fountain,  —  or  walked  with  stately 
friends  through  the  long  alleys  of  clipped  cypresses,  and 
picnicked  alia  Giorgione  on  lawns  wlu'ch  are  now  but 
kitchen-gardens,  dedicated  to  San  Cavolo.  It  pleases  me, 
also,  descending  in  memories  to  a  later  time,  to  look  up  at 
the  summer-house  built  above  the  gateway,  and  recall  the 
days  when  Shelley  and  Keats  came  there  to  visit  their 
friend  Severn,  the  artist  (for  that  was  his  studio),  and 
look  over  the  same  alleys  and  gardens,  and  speak  words 
one  would  have  been  so  glad  to  hear,  —  and,  coming  still 
later  down,  to  recall  the  hearty  words  and  brave  heart  of 
one  of  America's  best  sculptors  and  my  dear  friend, 
Thomas  Crawford. 

Should  the  ghosts  of  the  past  waken  at  nightfall  to 
wander  through  these  gardens,  they  would  be  startled  by 
the  wild  shriek  and  snort  of  the  iron  steed  with  his  fiery 
eyes  and  vaporous  breath,  that,  dragging  behind  him  the 
long  and  clattering  train  from  Naples,  comes  plunging 
through  ancient  walls  and  tombs  and  modern  vineyards 
and  cypress-alleys,  to  stable  himself  at  last  within  the  walls 
of  Diocletian's  ancient  baths. 

But  to  return  to  the  kitchen-gardens.  Pretty  as  they 
are  to  the  eye,  they  are  not  considered  to  be  wholesome ; 


HEALTHFULNESS  OF  ROME.  169 

and  no  Roman  will  live  in  a  house  near  one  of  them, 
especially  if  it  lie  on  the  southern  and  western  side,  so  that 
the  Sirocco  and  the  prevalent  summer  winds  blow  over  it. 
The  daily  irrigation  in  itself  would  he  sufficient  to 
frighten  all  Italians  away  ;  for  they  have  a  deadly  fear  of 
all  effluvia  arising  from  decomposing  vegetable  substances, 
and  suppose,  with  a  good  deal  of  truth,  that,  wherever 
there  is  water  on  the  earth,  there  is  decomposition.  But 
this  is  not  the  only  reason  ;  for  the  same  prejudice  exists 
in  regard  to  all  kinds  of  gardens,  whether  irrigated  or 
not,  and  even  to  groves  of  trees  and  clusters  of  bushes,  or 
vegetation  of  any  kind  around  a  house.  This  is  the  real 
reason  why,  even  in  their  country  villas,  their  trees  are 
almost  always  planted  at  a  distance  from  the  house,  so  as 
to  expose  it  to  the  sun  and  to  give  it  a  free  ventilation  : 
trees  they  do  not  care  for ;  damp  is  their  determined  foe, 
and  therefore  they  will  not  purchase  the  luxury  of  shade 
from  foliage  at  the  risk  of  the  damp  it  is  supposed  to  en- 
gender. On  the  north,  however,  gardens  are  not  thought 
to  be  so  prejudicial  as  on  the  south  and  west,  as  the  cold, 
dry  winds  come  from  the  former  direction.  The  malaria, 
as  we  call  it,  though  the  term  is  unknown  to  Romans,  is 
never  so  dangerous  as  after  a  slight  rain,  just  sufficient  to 
wet  the  surface  of  the  earth  without  deeply  penetrating  it ; 
for  decomposition  is  then  stimulated,  and  the  miasma 
arising  from  the  Campagna  is  blown  abroad.  So  long  as 
the  earth  is  dry,  there  is  no  danger  of  fever,  except  at 
morning  and  nightfall,  and  then  simply  because  of  the 
heavy  d  ews  which  the  porous  and  baked  earth  then  inhales 
and  expires.  After  the  autumn  has  given  a  thorough, 
drenching  rain,  Rome  is  healthy  and  free  from  fever. 

There  is  no  more  unfounded  superstition  than  that 
which  is  generally  prevalent,  particularly  among  the  Eng- 
lish and  Americans,  as  to  the  unhealthiness  of  Rome.  The 
statistics  clearly  prove  that,  so  far  from  its  being  an  un- 
healthy city,  it  is  in  fact  one  of  the  healthiest  cities  on  the 
Continent.  Its  death-rate  is  lower  than  that  of  almost 
any  other  large  city  in  Europe,  far  lower  than  that  of 
many  which  enjoy  the  reputation  of  being  highly  sanitary. 
Every  year,  in  consequence  of  the  improvements  in  drain- 


170  ROBA   DI  ROMA. 

age  and  general  cleanliness,  the  death-rate  decreases.  And 
in  the  higher  quarters  it  can  now  (1886)  challenge  com- 
parison with  that  of  any  city  in  the  world.  That  hugbear 
of  superstition,  the  so-called  "  Roman  fever,"  which  fright- 
ens so  many  travellers  from  the  Eternal  City,  has  no  ex- 
istence, if  the  term  "  Roman  fever  "  is  intended  to  mean 
any  fever  peculiar  to  Rome  and  not  existing  elsewhere. 
Fevers  of  course  there  are,  as  everywhere,  but  there  is  no 
fever  which  can  fitly  be  called  "  Roman."  Fever  and  ague 
undoubtedly  exists,  and  at  times  assumes  the  dangerous 
character  of  what  is  called  here  Perniciosa,  but  fever  and 
ague  are  found  in  all  countries,  and,  when  they  occur  here, 
why  they  should  be  called  "  Roman  fever,"  it  is  difficult 
to  see.  In  fact,  there  is  no  disease  ever  caught  in  Rome, 
or  brought  to  Rome  by  any  stranger,  and  no  illness  or 
death  ever  occurs  in  Rome,  or  after  leaving  Rome,  that  is 
not  immediately  stamped  with  the  terrible  title  of  "  Roman 
fever."  Cancer  and  pneumonia,  old  age  and  apoplexy, 
diabetes  and  scarlatina,  and,  in  a  word,  u  all  the  ills  that 
flesh  is  heir  to,"  fall  under  the  same  fatal  designation. 
Months,  nay,  years,  may  elapse  after  the  unfortunate 
visitor  has  left  Rome  before  the  hand  of  death  is  laid 
upon  him  ;  but  if  he  has  had  the  imprudence  to  come  to 
this  poisonous  place,  you  will  always  hear  that  the  seeds 
of  "  Roman  fever  "  were  then  planted  in  his  constitution, 
from  which  there  is  no  escape.  I  have  even  known  of 
cases  where  the  mere  intention  of  coming  to  Rome,  though 
it  has  never  been  carried  out,  has  produced  the  same  fatal 
result,  at  least  the  announcement  of  death  has  been  ac- 
companied in  the  newspapers  by  the  statement  that  it 
occurred  from  Roman  fever  contracted  at  Rome.  In 
saying  this,  I  do  not  exaggerate  facts  within  my  knowl- 
edge. Deaths,  I  suppose,  do  occur  elsewhere,  in  Paris,  in 
"London,  in  New  York  ;  and  fevers  exist  there,  I  believe, 
but  I  have  never  heard  any  such  deaths  ascribed  to  Paris 
fever,  or  London  fever,  or  New  York  fever.  Nor  have  I 
ever  heard  that  it  was  dangerous  to  visit  those  cities  because 
deaths  had  occurred  there.  But  Rome,  poor  Rome  !  ah, 
that  is  different. 

Facts  are  strangely  at  variance  with  this  almost  uni- 


DEATH-RATE.  171 

versal  superstition ;  but  what  are  facts  against  any  super- 
stition, mere  "  windy  suspirations  of  forced  breath."  Yet 
it  is  a  fact  that  of  the  thousands  and  thousands  of  stran- 
gers that  visit  Rome,  some,  nay,  many,  out  of  health,  worn- 
out  by  worry,  and  seeking  for  recreation,  or  afflicted  with 
mortal  diseases,  some  very  young,  some  very  old  and  weak, 
the  proportion  of  deaths  among  them  in  Rome  is  extraor- 
dinarily small.  The  names  of  all  Protestants  of  every 
nation  who  die  here  must  by  the  exigencies  of  the  law  be 
registered,  and  the  body,  whatever  be  its  final  destination, 
must  within  twenty-four  hours  be  temporarily  removed  to 
the  receiving  tomb  of  the  Protestant  cemetery.  Of  all 
such  deaths,  therefore,  a  strict  list  is  kept.  What  does 
this  list  attest  ?  The  largest  number  which  has  been 
placed  there  in  any  one  year  within  the  preceding  ten 
years  is  ten,  and  the  average  of  course  is  very  much  under 
this  number.  As  the  number  of  Protestants  who  come  to 
Rome  during  the  year  cannot  be  calculated  at  less  than 
15,000,  this  at  the  highest  number  would  be  one  in  1,500, 
and  of  these  it  may  be  fairly  said  that  not  three  in  ten 
die  of  fever  of  any  kind. 

Taking  as  a  test  the  deaths  occurring  among  the  artists 
who  reside  in  Rome,  and  especially  those  who  come  from 
other  countries,  the  average  of  their  lives  is  very  long. 
Within  my  own  time,  of  the  following  well-known  artists 
not  one  has  died  under  eighty  years  of  age,  and  some  of 
them  have  passed  from  five  to  seven  years  and  even  more 
beyond  that  limit.  Tenerani,  Macdonald,  Bienaime,  who 
lived  to  near  ninety ;  Penry  Williams,  Chapman,  Scoern, 
Overbeck,  and  Minardi.  After  more  than  forty  years' 
residence  in  Rome,  during  which  time  he  had  scarcely 
lost  a  day  in  his  studio  from  illness,  Gibson  died  of  an 
apoplectic  attack  at  seventy-seven,  and  Freeman  at  about 
the  same  age.  William  Howitt  had  passed  beyond  eighty 
when  he  died  ;  and  Colonel  Caldwell,  who  had  come  here 
for  his  health  forty  years  before,  finally  succumbed  at 
ninety-four.  Of  all  the  artists  whom  it  has  been  my  for- 
tune to  know  here,  the  average  of  life  has  been  long,  and 
of  all  the  names  I  have  mentioned  not  one  died  of  the  so- 
called  Roman  fever. 


172  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

But  they  had  become  acclimated,  will  be  the  answer. 
Ay  !  but  how  did  they  become  acclimated  ?  Why  did  they 
not  die  at  once,  exposed  as  they  were  to  the  fearful  rav- 
ages of  this  pestiferous  climate  ?  Why  were  they  not  the 
immediate  victims  of  this  famous  Roman  fever  ? 

Among  the  strangers  visiting  Rome,  cases  of  typhoid 
fever  originating  there  are  comparatively  rare,  and  a 
careful  examination  will  show  that  the  great  proportion 
of  cases  of  typhoid  among  travellers  are  contracted  else- 
where, brought,  in  an  incipient  stage,  to  Rome,  and  there 
developed.  Among  the  foreign  residents  of  Rome  it  is  of 
infrequent  occurrence.  Scarlet  fever,  that  fearful  scourge 
of  the  North,  assumes  in  Rome  the  mitigated  form  of  scar- 
latina, and  is  a  comparatively  light  disease.  Cholera  has 
never  broken  out  there  with  virulence.  For  diseases  of 
the  throat  and  lungs  the  air  is  in  many  cases  almost  cura- 
tive. The  common  diseases  of  children,  such  as  measles 
and  mumps,  are  ordinarily  very  light.  The  climate  ia 
equable,  subject  to  no  rapid  changes  of  temperature  or 
sudden  chilling  winds,  and  to  keep  well  in  Rome  requires 
only  a  decent  amount  of  common  prudence.  But  that  is 
precisely  what  is  generally  lacking  among  travellers.  They 
exhaust  their  nervous  energies  by  a  constant  excitement 
of  sight-seeing,  and  are  guilty  of  the  most  dangerous  im- 
prudences. 

What  is  peculiar  here  is  that  almost  any  illness  is  apt 
to  take  on  an  intermittent  type.  The  common  form  of 
fever  and  ague,  unless  it  assume  the  phase  of  Pernici- 
osa,  is  however  by  no  means  a  dangerous  disease,  and  has 
the  additional  advantage  of  a  specific  remedy.  But  fever 
and  ague,  even  its  simplest  form,  in  Rome  has  a  very 
limited  extent,  and  for  the  greater  part  of  the  year  may 
be  almost  said  not  to  exist  in  the  city  itself.  Everything 
now  is  called  a  fever  in  Rome,  —  "  La  febbri  '*  is  but  a 
generic  term  for  any  illness,  though  it  be  only  an  indiges- 
tion or  a  slight  cold,  —  and  this  universal  use  of  the  word 
has  probably  begotten  to  some  extent  in  the  minds  of 
foreigners  the  false  notion  of  a  special  fever  which  lurks 
for  every  one  behind  every  corner  of  the  Eternal  City,  to 
leap  upon  the  unwary.  The  Romans  themselves  of  the 


HEALTHFULNESS  OF  ROME.  173 

better  class  seldom  suffer  from  it,  and  with  a  little  pru- 
dence it  may  be  easily  avoided.  Those  who  are  most 
attacked  by  it  are  the  laborers  and  contadini  on  the 
Campagna ;  and  how  can  it  be  otherwise  with  them  ? 
They  sleep  often  on  the  bare  ground,  or  on  a  little  straw 
under  a  hut  just  large  enough  to  admit  them  on  all-fours. 
Their  labor  is  exhausting  and  performed  in  the  sun,  and 
while  in  a  violent  perspiration  they  are  often  exposed  to 
sudden  draughts  and  checks.  Their  food  is  poor,  their 
habits  careless,  and  it  would  require  an  iron  constitution 
to  resist  what  they  endure.  But  despite  the  life  they 
lead  and  their  various  exposures,  they  are  for  the  most 
part  a  very  strong  and  sturdy  class.  This  intermittent 
fever  is  undoubtedly  a  far  from  pleasant  thing ;  but 
Americans  who  are  terrified  at  it  in  Rome  give  it  no 
thought  in  Philadelphia,  where  it  is  more  prevalent,  — 
and  while  they  call  Rome  unhealthy,  live  with  undis- 
turbed confidence  in  cities  where  scarlet  and  typhus  fevers 
annually  rage.1  If  Rome  be  an  unhealthy  city,  on  the 
whole,  how  does  it  happen  that  the  people  who  never 
leave  it,  the  year  round,  are  so  robust  and  healthy  ?  Look 
at  the  men  and  women  in  the  streets,  do  they  look  as  if 
they  suffered  from  the  climate  ? 

It  is  a  singular  fact  that  the  French  soldiers  who  in 
1848  made  the  siege  of  Rome  suffered  no  inconvenience 
or  injury  to  their  health  from  sleeping  on  the  Campagna, 
and  that,  despite  the  prophecies  to  the  contrary,  very  few 
cases  of  fever  appeared,  though  the  siege  lasted  during 
the  summer  months.  The  reason  of  this  is  doubtless  to  be 
found  in  the  fact  that  they  were  better  clothed,  better  fed, 
and  ill  every  way  more  careful  of  themselves  than  the 
contadini.  Foreigners,  too,  who  visit  Rome  are  very 
seldom  attacked  by  intermittent  fever  ;  and  it  may  truly 
be  said,  that,  when  they  are,  it  is,  for  the  most  part,  their 
own  fault.  There  is  generally  the  grossest  inconsistency 
between  their  theories  and  their  practice.  Believing  as 
they  do  that  the  least  exposure  will  induce  fever,  they 

1  Wherever  fever  and  ague  prevails,  it  can  at  once  be  seen  by  the 
sallow,  ghostly  faces  of  the  sufferers,  and  the  appearance  of  the  peo- 
ple is  perhaps  as  satisfactory  a  test  as  can  be  found  of  its  presence. 


174  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

expose  themselves  with  singular  recklessness  to  the  very 
causes  of  fever.  After  hurrying  through  the  streets  and 
getting  into  a  violent  perspiration,  they  plunge  at  once  in- 
to some  damp  pit-like  church  or  chill  gallery,  where  the 
temperature  is  at  least  ten  degrees  lower  than  the  outer 
air.  The  bald-headed,  rosy  John  Bull,  steaming  with 
heat,  doffs  at  once  the  hat  which  he  wore  in  the  street, 
and,  of  course,  is  astounded  if  the  result  prove  just  what 
it  would  be  anywhere  else,  and  if  he  take  cold  and  get 
a  fever,  charges  it  to  the  climate  arid  not  to  his  own  folly 
and  recklessness.  Beside  this,  foreigners  will  always  in- 
sist on  carrying  their  home  habits  with  them  wherever 
they  go  ;  and  it  is  exceedingly  difficult  to  persuade  anyone 
that  he  does  not  understand  the  climate  better  than  the 
Italians  themselves,  whom  he  puts  down  as  a  poor  set  of 
timid  ignoramuses.  However,  the  longer  one  lives  in 
Rome,  the  more  he  learns  to  value  the  Italian  rules  of 
health.  There  is  probably  no  people  so  careful  in  these 
matters  as  the  Italians,  and  especially  the  Romans.  They 
understand  their  own  climate,  and  they  have  a  decided 
dislike  of  death.  In  France  and  England  suicides  are 
common  ;  in  Italy  they  are  almost  unknown.1  The  Amer- 
ican recklessness  of  life  completely  astounds  the  Italian. 
He  enjoys  life,  studies  every  method  to  preserve  it,  and 
considers  any  one  who  risks  it  unnecessarily  as  simply  a 
fool. 

What,  then,  are  their  rules  of  life  ?  In  the  first  place, 
in  all  their  habits  they  are  very  regular.  They  eat  at 
stated  times,  and  cannot  be  persuaded  to  partake  of  any- 
thing in  the  intervals.  If  it  be  not  their  hour  for  eat- 
ing, they  will  refuse  the  choicest  viands,  and  sit  at  your 
table  fasting,  despite  every  temptation  you  can  offer. 
They  are  also  abstemious  in  their  diet,  and  gluttony  is  the 
rarest  of  vices.  I  do  not  believe  there  is  another  nation 
in  Europe  that  eats  so  sparingly.  In  the  morning  they 

1  Alas !  this  can  no  longer  be  said.  Suicide  is  an  epidemic  how 
in  Rome,  and  scarcely  a  day  passes  that  one  or  more  is  not  recorded 
in  the  papers.  With  liberty  and  union  has  come  in  the  ghastly 
demon  of  suicide.  Living  has  become  dear,  taxes  heavy,  and  death 
easy. 


ITALIAN  HABITS  OF  LIFE.  175 

take  a  cup  of  coffee,  generally  without  milk,  sopping  in  it 
some  light  brioche.  Later  in  the  day  they  take  a  slight 
lunch  of  soup  and  macaroni,  with  a  glass  of  wine.  This 
lasts  them  until  dinner,  which  begins  with  a  thin  soup  ; 
after  which  the  lesso  or  boiled  meat  comes  on  and  is  eaten 
with  one  vegetable,  which  is  less  a  dish  than  a  garnish  to 
the  meat ;  then  comes  a  dish  of  some  vegetable  eaten  with 
bread  ;  then,  perhaps,  a  chop,  and  another  dish  of  meat, 
garnished  with  a  vegetable ;  some  light  dolce  or  fruit,  and 
a  cup  of  black  coffee,  —  the  latter  for  digestion's  sake,  — 
finish  the  repast.  The  quantity  is  very  small,  however, 
compared  to  what  is  eaten  in  England.  France,  America, 
or,  though  last,  not  least,  Germany.  Late  in  the  evening 
they  have  a  supper.  When  dinner  is  taken  in  the  middle 
of  the  day,  lunch  is  omitted.  This  is  the  rule  of  the 
better  classes.  The  workmen  and  middle  classes,  after 
their  cup  of  coffee  and  bit  of  bread  or  brioche  in  the  morn- 
ing, take  nothing  until  night,  except  another  cup  of  coffee 
and  bread,  —  and  their  dinner  finishes  their  meals  after 
their  work  is  done.  From  my  own  observation,  I  should 
say  that  an  Italian  certainly  does  not  eat  more  than  half 
as  much  as  a  German,  or  two-thirds  as  much  as  an  Amer- 
ican. The  climate  will  not  allow  of  gormandizing,  and 
much  less  food  is  required  to  sustain  the  vital  powers  than 
in  America,  where  the  atmosphere  is  so  stimulating  to  the 
brain  and  the  digestion,  or  in  England,  where  the  depress- 
ing effects  of  the  climate  must  be  counteracted  by  stimu- 
lants. 

If  you  wish  to  keep  your  health  in  Italy,  follow  the  ex- 
ample of  the  Italians.  Do  not  drink  largely  or  habitually 
of  brandy,  porter,  ale,  or  even  Marsala,  but  confine  your- 
self to  the  lighter  wines  of  the  country  or  of  France. 
Do  not  exhaust  your  nervous  system  by  too  continuous 
sight- seeing,  nor  by  long  walks  or  violent  exercise.  Do 
not  walk  much  in  the  sun ;  "  only  Englishmen  and  dogs  " 
do  that,  as  the  proverb  goes  ;  and  especially  take  heed  not 
to  expose  yourself,  when  warm,  to  any  sudden  changes  of 
temperature.  If  you  have  heated  yourself  with  walking 
in  the  sun,  be  careful  not  to  go  at  once,  and  especially  to- 
wards nightfall,  into  the  lower  and  shady  streets,  which 


176  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

have  begun  to  gather  the  damps,  and  are  kept  cool  by  the 
high  thick  walls  of  the  houses.  Remember  that  the  differ- 
ence of  temperature  is  very  great  between  the  narrow, 
shaded  streets,  and  the  high,  sunny  Pincio.  If  you  have 
the  misfortune  to  be  of  the  male  sex,  and  especially  if  you 
suffer  under  the  sorrow  of  the  first  great  Caesar  in  being 
bald,  buy  yourself  a  little  skull-cap  (it  is  as  good  as  his 
laurels  for  the  purpose),  and  put  it  on  your  head  whenever 
you  enter  the  churches  and  cold  galleries.  Almost  every 
fever  here  is  the  result  of  suddenly  checked  transpiration 
of  the  skin  ;  and  if  you  will  take  the  precaution  to  cool 
yourself  before  entering  churches  and  galleries,  and  not  to 
expose  yourself  while  warm  to  sudden  changes  of  tempera- 
ture, you  may  live  twenty  years  in  Rome  without  a  fever. 
And  oh,  my  American  friends  !  repress  your  national  love 
for  hot  rooms  and  great  fires,  and  do  not  make  an  oven 
of  your  salon.  Bake  yourselves,  kiln-dry  yourselves,  if 
you  choose,  in  your  furnaced  houses  at  home,  but  if  you 
value  your  health,  "  reform  that  altogether  "  in  Italy.  In- 
crease your  clothing  and  moderate  your  fires,  and  you  will 
find  yourself  better  in  health  and  in  pocket.  With  your 
great  fires  you  will  always  be  cold  and  always  have 
colds ;  for  the  houses  are  not  tight,  and  you  only  create 
great  draughts  thereby.  You  will  not  persuade  an  Italian 
to  sit  near  them ;  —  he  will,  on  the  contrary,  ask  your 
permission  to  take  the  farthest  corner  away  from  the  fire. 
Seven  winters1  in  Rome  have  convinced  me  of  the  cor- 
rectness of  their  rule.  Of  course,  you  do  not  believe  me 
or  them  ;  but  it  would  be  better  for  you  if  you  did,  —  and 
for  me,  too,  when  I  come  to  visit  you. 

But  I  must  beg  pardon  for  all  this  advice  ;  and  as  my 
business  is  not  to  write  a  medical  thesis  here,  let  me  return 
to  pleasanter  things. 

Scarcely  does  the  sun  drop  behind  St.  Peter's  on  the 
first  day  of  May  before  bonfires  begin  to  blaze  from  all 
the  country  towns  on  the  mountain-sides,  showing  like 
great  beacons.  This  is  a  custom  founded  in  great  anti- 
quity, and  common  to  the  North  and  South.  The  first  of 
May  is  the  Festival  of  the  Holy  Apostles  in  Italy ;  but  in 
1  To  which  I  must  now  (1886)  add  20  more. 


FESTIVAL  OF  HOLY  APOSTLES.  177 

Germany,  and  still  farther  north,  in  Sweden  and  Nor- 
way, it  is  Walpurgisnacht,  when  goblins,  witches,  hags, 
and  devils  hold  high  holiday,  mounting  on  their  brooms  for 
the  Brocken.  And  it  was  on  this  night  that  Mephis- 
topheles  carried  Faust  on  his  wondrous  ride,  and  showed 
him  the  spectre  of  Margaret  with  the  red  line  round  her 
throat. 

In  the  Neapolitan  towns  great  fires  are  built  on  this 
festival,  around  which  the  people  dance,  jumping  through 
the  flames  and  flinging  themselves  about  in  every  wild 
and  fantastic  attitude.  Similar  bonfires  may  also  be  seen 
blazing  everywhere  over  the  hills  and  on  the  Campagna 
on  the  eve  of  the  day  of  San  Giovanni,  which  occurs  on 
the  24th  of  June  ;  and  if  you  would  have  a  medicine  to 
cure  all  wounds  and  cuts,  go  out  before  daylight  and  pluck 
the  little  flower  called  pilatro  (St.  John's  wort),  and 
make  an  infusion  of  it  before  the  sun  is  up ;  but  at  all 
events  be  sure  on  the  eve  of  this  day  to  place  a  plate  of 
salt  at  the  door,  for  it  is  the  witches'  festival,  and  no  one 
of  the  tribe  can  pass  the  salt  to  injure  you  without  first 
counting  every  grain,  a  task  which  will  occupy  the  whole 
night,  and  thus  save  you  from  evil.  Besides  this,  place  a 
pitchfork,  or  any  fork,  by  the  door,  as  an  additional  safe- 
guard, in  case  she  calls  in  allies  to  help  her  count. 

These  are  relics  of  the  old  pagan  custom  alluded  to 
by  Ovid,1  and  particularly  described  by  Varro,  when  the 
peasants  made  huge  bonfires  of  straw,  hay,  and  other  in- 
flammable materials,  called  "  Palilia"  and  men,  women, 
and  children  danced  round  them  and  leaped  through  them 
in  order  to  obtain  expiation  and  free  themselves  from 
evil  influences  —  the  mothers  holding  out  over  the  flames 
those  children  who  were  too  young  to  take  an  active  part 
in  this  rite.  The  canonist  Balsamon  in  his  comment  on 
the  sixty-fifth  canon  of  the  Council  "  in  Trullo,"  also  re- 
ports, on  the  authority  of  the  Patriarch  of  Constantinople, 
among  other  superstitious  usages,  that  of  leaping  through 
the  fires,  that  even  then  it  was  the  custom  to  make  on  the 
eve  of  St.  John.  But  this  rite  goes  much  farther  back 

' '  Moxque  per  ardentes  stipulae  crepitantis  acervos, 

Trajicias  celeri  strenua  membra  pede."  —  Fasti,  lib.  4. 
12 


178  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

into  antiquity,  and  may  be  referred  to  the  most  ancient 
oracle  of  Saturn,  by  which  it  was  ordered  that  children 
should  be  passed  through  flames,  and  which  was  after- 
wards barbarously  interpreted  to  mean  that  they  should  be 
burned  alive,  as  a  sacrifice  to  Saturn. 

The  month  of  May  is  the  culmination  of  the  spring  and 
the  season  of  seasons  at  Rome.  No  wonder  that  foreigners 
who  have  come  when  winter  sets  in  and  take  wing  before 
April  shows  her  sky,  sometimes  growl  at  the  weather,  and 
ask  if  this  is  the  beautiful  Italian  clime.  They  have 
simply  selected  the  rainy  season  for  their  visit ;  and  one 
cannot  expect  to  have  sun  the  whole  year  through,  without 
intermission.  Where  will  they  find  more  sun  in  the  same 
season  ?  where  will  they  find  milder  and  softer  air  ?  Even 
in  the  middle  of  winter,  days,  and  sometimes  weeks,  de- 
scend as  it  were  from  heaven  to  fill  the  soul  with  delight ; 
and  a  lovely  day  in  Rome  is  lovelier  than  under  any 
other  sky  on  earth.  But  just  when  foreigners  go  away  in 
crowds,  the  Weather  is  settling  into  the  perfection  of 
spring,  and  then  it  is  that  Rome  is  most  charming.  The 
rains  are  over,  the  sun  is  a  daily  blessing,  all  Nature  is 
bursting  into  leaf  and  flower,  and  one  may  spend  days  on 
the  Campagna  without  fear  of  colds  and  fever.  Stay  in 
Rome  during  May,  if  you  wish  to  feel  its  beauty. 

The  best  rule  for  a  traveller  who  desires  to  enjoy  the 
charms  of  every  clime  would  be  to  go  to  the  North  in  the 
winter  and  to  the  South  in  the  spring  and  summer.  Cold 
is  the  specialty  of  the  North,  and  all  its  sports  and  gayeties 
take  thence  their  tone.  The  houses  are  built  to  shut  out 
the  demon  of  Frost,  and  to  protect  one  from  his  assaults 
of  ice  and  snow.  Let  him  howl  about  your  windows  and 
scrawl  his  wonderful  landscapes  on  your  panes,  and  pile 
his  fantastic  wreaths  outside,  while  you  draw  round  the 
blazing  hearth  and  enjoy  the  artificial  heat  and  warmth  in 
the  social  converse  that  it  provokes.  Your  punch  is  all 
the  better  for  his  threats  ;  by  contrast  you  enjoy  the  more. 
Or  brave  him  outside  in  a  flying  sledge,  careering  with 
jangling  bells  over  wide  wastes  of  snow,  while  the  stars,  as 
you  go,  fly  through  the  naked  trees  that  are  glittering  with 
ice-jewels,  and  your  blood  tingles  with  excitement,  and 


NORTH  AND  SOUTH.  179 

your  breath  is  blown  like  a  white  incense  to  the  skies. 
That  is  the  real  North.  How  tame  he  will  look  to  you 
when  you  go  back  in  August  and  find  a  few  hard  apples, 
a  few  tough  plums,  and  some  sour  little  things  which  are 
apologies  for  grapes  !  He  looks  sneaky  enough  then,  with 
his  make-believe  summer,  and  all  his  furs  off. 

No,  then  is  the  time  for  the  South.  All  is  simmering 
outside,  and  the  locust  saws  and  shrills  till  he  seems  to 
heat  the  air.  You  stay  in  the  house  at  noon,  and  know 
what  a  virtue  there  is  in  thick  walls  which  keep  out  the 
fierce  heats,  in  gaping  windows  and  doors  that  will  not 
shut  because  you  need  the  ventilation.  You  will  not  now 
complain  of  the  stone  and  brick  floors  that  you  cursed  all 
winter  long,  and  on  which  you  now  sprinkle  water  to  keep 
the  air  cool  in  your  rooms.  The  blunders  and  stupidities 
of  winter  are  all  over.  The  breezy  loggia  is  no  longer  a 
joke.  You  are  glad  enough  to  sit  there  and  drink  your 
wine  and  look  over  the  landscape.  Mariuccia  brings  in  a 
great  basket  of  purple  and  white  grapes,  which  the  wasp 
envies  you  as  you  eat,  and  comes  to  share.  And  here  are 
luscious  figs  bursting  their  sugary  skins,  and  apricots 
rusted  in  the  sun,  and  velvety  peaches  that  break  into 
juice  in  your  mouth,  and  great  black-seeded  water-melons. 
Nature  empties  her  cornucopia  of  fruits,  flowers,  and  vege- 
tables over  your  table.  Luxuriously  you  enjoy  them  and 
fan  yourself  and  take  your  siesta,  with  full  appreciation  of 
your  dolce  far  niente.  When  the  sun  begins  to  slope 
westward,  if  you  are  in  the  country,  you  wander  through 
the  green  lanes  festooned  with  vines,  and  pluck  grapes  as 
you  go  ;  or,  if  you  are  in  the  city,  you  saunter  the  evening 
long  through  the  streets  where  all  the  world  are  strolling, 
and  you  take  your  garnito  of  ice  or  sherbet,  and  talk  over 
the  things  of  the  day  and  the  time,  and  pass  as  you  go 
home  groups  of  singers  and  serenaders  with  guitars,  flutes, 
and  violins,  —  serenade,  perhaps,  sometimes  yourself ;  and 
all  the  time  the  great  planets  and  stars  throb  in  the  near 
heavens,  and  the  soft  air  full  of  the  fragrance  of  orange- 
blossoms  blows  against  your  cheek.  And  you  can  really 
say,  This  is  Italy !  For  it  is  not  what  you  do,  so  much  as 
what  you  feel,  that  makes  Italy. 


180  ROB'A  DI  ROMA. 

But  pray  remember  that  in  the  South  every  arrange- 
ment is  made  for  the  nine  hot  months,  and  not  for  the 
three  cold  and  rainy  ones  you  choose  to  spend  there,  and 
perhaps  your  views  may  be  somewhat  modified  in  respect 
of  this  "  miserable  people,"  who,  you  say,  "  have  no  idea 
of  comfort,"  —  meaning,  of  course,  English  comfort.  Per- 
haps, I  say  ;  for  it  is  in  the  nature  of  travellers  to  come  to 
sudden  conclusions  upon  slight  premises,  to  maintain  with 
obstinacy  preconceived  notions,  and  to  quarrel  with  all  na- 
tional traits  except  their  own.  And  being  English,  unless 
you  have  a  friend  in  India  who  has  made  you  aware  that 
cane-bottom  chairs  are  India-English,  you  will  be  pretty 
sure  to  believe  that  there  is  no  comfort  without  carpets  and 
coal ;  or  being  an  American,  you  will  b^.i^.t  to  undervalue 
a  gallery  of  pictures  with  only  a  three-ply  carpet  on  the 
floor,  and  to  "  calculate  "  that,  if  they  could  see  your  house 
in  Washington  Square,  they  would  feel  rather  ashamed. 
However,  there  is  a  great  deal  of  human  nature  in  man- 
kind, wherever  you  go,  —  except  in  Paris,  perhaps,  where 
nature  is  rather  inhuman  and  artificial.  And  when  I  in- 
stance the  Englishman  and  American  as  making  false  judg- 
ments, let  me  not  be  misunderstood  as  supposing  them  the 
only  nations  in  that  category.  No,  no  !  did  not  my  Paris- 
ian acquaintance  the  other  day  assure  me  very  gravely, 
after  lamenting  the  absurdity  of  the  Italians  not  speaking 
French  instead  of  their  own  language.  —  "  Mais  enfin, 
monsieur,  qu'est-ce  que  c'est  que  cet  Italien  f  ce  rCest  gue 
de  mauvais  Franqais"  Nor  is  it  only  once  that  I  have 
had  the  fortune  to  hear  these  peculiar  philological  views 
put  forward  gravely  by  one  of  the  "  grande  nation"  On 
arriving  at  the  railway  station  at  Civita  Vecchia  the  other 
day,  I  heard  a  little  strutting  French  abbe  make  neai-ly 
the  same  proposition,  adding  in  a  contemptuous  tone  of 
voice,  as  an  illustration  of  the  truth  of  his  remarks  — 
"  Regardez,  par  exemple,  on  ne  sait  pas  meme  ecrire  le 
mot  bay  ages.  Dans  leur  patois  il  est  lbagaglie'  Quels 
ignorants  !  " 

But  we  are  now  in  May,  and  life  is  altogether  changed 
from  what  it  was  in  the  winter.  All  the  windows  are 
wide  open,  and  there  is  at  least  one  head  and  one  pair  of 


STREET  PICTURES.  181 

shoulders  leaning  out  at  every  house.  The  poorer  families 
are  all  out  on  their  doorsteps,  working  and  chatting  to- 
gether, while  their  children  run  about  them  in  the  streets, 
sprawling,  playing,  and  fighting.  Many  a  beautiful  theme 
for  the  artist  is  now  to  be  found  in  these  careless  and 
characteristic  groups  ;  and  curly-headed  St.  Johns  may  be 
seen  in  every  street,  half-naked,  with  great  black  eyes  and 
rounded  arms  and  legs.  It  is  this  which  makes  Rome 
so  admirable  a  residence  for  an  artist.  All  things  are 
easy  and  careless  in  the  out-of-doors  life  of  the  common 
people,  —  all  poses  unsought,  all  groupings  accidental,  all 
action  unaffected  and  unconscious.  One  meets  Nature  at 
every  turn,  —  not  braced  up  in  prim  forms,  not  conscious 
in  manners,  not  made  up  into  the  fashionable  or  the 
proper,  but  impulsive,  free,  and  simple.  With  the  whole 
street  looking  on,  they  are  as  unconscious  and  natural  as 
if  they  were  where  no  eye  could  see  them,  —  ay,  and  more 
natural,  too,  than  it  is  possible  for  some  people  to  be, 
even  in  the  privacy  of  their  solitary  rooms.  They  sing  at 
the  top  of  their  lungs,  as  they  sit  on  their  doorsteps,  at 
their  work,  and  often  shout  from  house  to  house  across 
the  street  a  long  conversation,  and  sometimes  even  read 
letters  from  upper  windows  to  their  friends  below  in  the 
street.  The  men  and  women  who  cry  their  fruit,  vege- 
tables, and  wares  up  and  down  the  city,  laden  with  baskets 
or  panniers,  and  often  accompanied  by  a  donkey,  stop  to 
chat  with  group  after  group,  or  get  into  animated  debates 
about  prices,  or  exercise  their  wits  and  lungs  at  once  in 
repartee  in  a  very  amusing  way.  Everybody  is  in  disha- 
bille in  the  morning,  but  towards  twilight  the  girls  put  on 
their  better  dresses,  and  comb  their  glossy  raven  hair, 
heaping  it  up  in  great  solid  braids,  and,  hanging  two  long 
golden  ear-rings  in  their  ears  and  necklaces  round  their 
full  necks,  come  forth  conquering  and  to  conquer,  and 
saunter  bareheaded  up  and  down  the  streets,  or  lounge 
about  the  doorways  and  piazzas  in  groups,  ready  to  give 
back  to  any  jeerer  as  good  as  he  sends.  You  see  them 
marching  along  sometimes  in  a  broad  platoon  of  five  or 
six,  all  their  brows  as  straight  as  if  they  had  been  ruled, 
and  their  great  dark  eyes  flashing  out  under  them,  ready 


182  ROBA   DI  ROMA. 

in  a  moment  for  a  laugh  or  a  frown.  What  stalwart  creat- 
ures they  are  !  What  shoulders,  bosoms,  and  backs  they 
have !  What  a  chance  for  the  lungs  under  those  stout 
bodices  !  and  what  finished  and  elegant  heads !  They  are 
certainly  cast  in  a  large  mould,  with  nothing  mean  or 
meagre  about  them,  either  in  feature  or  figure. 

Early  in  the  morning  you  will  see  streaming  through 
the  streets  or  gathered  together  in  picturesque  groups, 
some  standing,  some  crouching  on  the  pavement,  herds  of 
long-haired  goats,  brown,  white,  and  black,  which  have 
been  driven,  or  rather  which  have  followed  their  goatherd 
into  the  city  to  be  milked.  The  majestical,  long-bearded, 
patriarchal  he-goats  shake  their  bells  and  parade  solemnly 
about,  while  the  silken  females  clatter  their  little  hoofs  as 
they  run  from  the  hand  of  the  milker  when  he  has  filled 
his  can.  The  goatherd  is  kept  pretty  busy,  too,  milking 
at  everybody's  door  ;  and  before  the  fashionable  world  is 
up  at  nine,  the  milk  is  drained  and  the  goats  are  off  again 
to  the  Campagna. 

You  may  know  that  it  is  May  by  the  orange  and  lemon 
stands,  which  are  erected  in  almost  every  piazza.  These 
are  little  booths  covered  with  canvas,  and  fantastically 
adorned  with  lemons  and  oranges  intermixed,  which,  piled 
into  pyramids  and  disposed  about  everywhere,  have  a  very 
gay  effect.  They  are  generally  placed  near  a  fountain,  the 
water  of  which  is  conducted  through  a  canna  into  the 
centre  of  the  booth,  and  there,  finding  its  own  level  again, 
makes  a  little  spilling  fountain  from  which  the  bibite  are 
diluted.  Here  for  a  baiocco  one  buys  lemonade  or  orange- 
ade and  all  sorts  of  curious  little  drinks  or  bibite,  with  a 
feeble  taste  of  anisette  or  some  other  herb  to  take  off  the 
mawkishness  of  the  water,  —  or  for  a  halt-baiocco  one 
may  have  the  lemonade  without  sugar,  and  in  this  way  it 
is  usually  drunk.  On  all  festa-days,  little  portable  tables 
are  carried  about  the  streets,  hung  to  the  neck  of  the  limo- 
naro,  and  set  down  at  convenient  spots,  or  whenever  a 
customer  presents  himself,  and  the  cries  "Acqua  fresca, 
—  limonaro,  limonaro,  —  chi  vuol  bere  ?  "  are  heard  on 
all  sides  ;  and  I  can  assure  you,  that,  after  standing  on  tip- 
toe for  an  hour  in  the  heat,  and  straining  your  neck  and 


THE  LtMONARO.  183 

head  to  get  sight  of  some  church  procession,  you  are  glad 
enough  to  go  to  the  extravagance  of  even  a  lemonade  with 
sugar ;  and  smacking  your  lips,  you  bless  the  mission  of 
the  limonaro,  which  must  have  been  early  founded  by  the 
Good  Samaritan.  Listen  to  his  own  description  of  him- 
self in  one  of  the  popular  canzonetti  sunn-  about  the  streets 

•  •      • 

by  wandering  musicians  to  the  accompaniment  of  a  violin 
and  guitar  : — 

' '  Ma  per  altro  son  uomo  ingegnoso 
Non  possiedo,  ma  sono  padrone  ; 
Vendo  1'  acqua  con  spirto  e  linione 
Finche  dura  d 'estate  il  calor. 

"  Ho  un  capello  di  pag-lia,  —  ma  bello  ! 
Un  zinale  di  sopra  fino  ; 
Chi  mi  osserva  al  mio  tavolino, 
Gli  vien  sete,  se  sete  non  ha. 

"  Spaecio  spirti,  sciroppi,  acquavite, 
Fo  'ranciate  di  nuova  invenzione  ; 
Voi  vedete  quante  persone 
Chiedon  acqua,  —  e  rispoiido,  —  Son  qua !  " 


Yet  for  all  that  I  'm  a  man  of  resources, 
Master,  at  least,  if  no  wealth  I  inherit ; 
Water  I  sell,  mixed  with  lemon  and  spirit, 

Long  as  the  heat  of  the  summer  endures. 

I  've  a  straw  hat,  too,  that 's  not  to  be  sneered  at ! 

Find  me  an  apron  as  fine,  if  you  're  able  ? 

Just  let  a  man  look  at  me  and  my  table, 
Thirsty  he  '11  be,  if  he  was  not  before. 

Here  I  sell  spirits,  and  syrups,  and  brandy, 
Make  orangeades  of  a  novel  invention ; 
You  will  see  crowds,  if  you  '11  just  pay  attention, 

Asking  for  water,  —  and  I  cry,  I  'm  here. 

May  is  the  month  sacred  to  the  Madonna,  as  it  was  to 
the  Bona  Dea  among  the  ancient  Romans,  and  the  Ma- 
donna in  Rome  is  supreme.  She  rules  the  hearts  of  all 
Catholics  and  draws  them  to  the  bosom  of  the  Church,  as 
the  consoler  and  intercessor  of  all.  To  her  the  fisherman 


184  ROBA    DI  ROMA. 

prays  as  he  loosens  his  boat  from  shore,  for  she  is  "  Stella 
Maris,"  the  star  of  the  sea ;  and  in  the  storm  he  calls 
upon  her  to  save  him  : — 

"  In  mare  irato,  insubita  procella, 
Invoco  te  !  oh  benigna  stella !  ' ' 

She  stands  first  in  all  the  thoughts  of  love  and  home. 
Her  image  is  the  household  Penates ;  and  when  the  day  is 
done  and  night  comes  oh,  the  toll  of  the  Ave  Maria  re- 
calls the  mother  at  whose  breast  we  were  nursed  and  on 
whose  bosom  we  have  slept.  Nor  only  during  the  duties 
and  occupations  of  life  is  this  reverence  paid  to  the  Ma- 
donna. She  stands  by  the  bedside  of  the  dying  man,  and 
to  her  he  recommends  his  soul  with  the  last  whisper  that 
hovers  over  his  pallid  lips. 

Nothing  can  be  more  impressive  than  the  bell  of  the 
Ave  Maria  as  you  hear  it  in  the  country  around  Rome. 
The  brilliant  splendors  of  sunset  have  passed  away  —  the 
sky  is  soft  and  pale  with  delicate  dove-like  tints,  and  stars 
are  faintly  peering  out  of  its  still  deeps.  Solemn  shadows 
are  gathered  in  the  brown  valley,  where  slow  gray  mists 
are  rising ;  the  mountains  are  cut  sharply  and  darkly 
against  the  clear  sky,  and  houses  and  belfries  are  printed 
on  it  in  black  silhouettes.  Far  away  the  voices  of  peasants 
may  be  heard,  returning  to  their  homes,  and  wandering 
lights  show  here  and  there  in  distant  meadows.  As  you 
walk  musingly  along,  breathing  the  earthy  smell  that  rises 
from  the  Campagna,  and  touched  by  the  serious  and  pen- 
sive calm  that  then  gathers  over  all  Nature,  your  ear  is 
struck  by  the  musical  clang  of  bells  ringing  for  Ave  Maria 
—  each  of  which  amid  the  silence  — 

"  Paia  il  giorno  pianger  che  si  muore," 

and  every  one  pauses  and  crosses  himself,  and  says  a  little 
prayer  to  the  Madonna. 

During  this  month  of  May  special  honors  are  paid  to 
the  Virgin.  The  monasteries  of  nuns'  are  busy  with  pro- 
cessions and  celebrations  in  honor  of  "  the  Mother  of 
God,"  which  are  pleasantly  carried  on  within  their  pre- 
cincts and  seen  only  by  female  friends.  Sometimes  you 


WORSHIP   OF  THE  MADONNA.  185 

will  meet  a  procession  of  ladies  outside  the  gates,  on  foot, 
while  their  carriages  come  after  in  a  long  file.  These  are 
societies  which  are  making  the  pilgrimage  of  the  seven 
basilicas  outside  the  walls.  They  set  out  early  in  the 
morning,  stopping  in  each  basilica  for  a  half-hour  to  say 
their  prayers,  and  return  to  Rome  at  Ave  Maria. 

On  every  festa-d&y  during  this  month  you  will  see  at 
the  corners  of  the  streets  a  little  improvised  shrine  of  the 
rudest  kind,  or  it  may  be  only  a  little  festooned  print  of 
the  Madonna  hung  against  the  walls  of  some  house,  or 
against  the  back  of  a  chair,  and  tended  by  two  or  three 
little  girls,  who  hold  out  a  plate  to  you  as  you  pass,  and 
beg  for  charity,  sometimes  in  the  most  pertinacious  way. 
These  are  the  children  of  ppor  persons,  who  thus  levy  on 
the  public  a  little  sum  to  be  expended  in  oil  for  the  lamps 
before  the  Madonna  shrines  in  the  streets  or  in  the  house. 
No  street —  and  almost  no  house  or  shop  —  is  without  a 
shrine  erected  to  her,  where  a  little  light  is  kept  constantly 
burning,  and  over  each  is  an  inscription,  generally  in  dog 
Latin,  setting  forth  some  of  her  titles,  and  commanding 
reverence  or  adoration  from  the  passer.  Here  are  placed 
fresh  flowers  ;  and  here  may  be  seen  at  all  hours  of  the 
day  some  poor  person  kneeling  and  saying  her  rosary.  If 
an  accident  happens  in  the  street  it  is  to  her  that  safety  is 
owed,  and  straightway  thanks  must  be  returned  to  her. 
Very  commonly  the  person  whose  life  has  been  in  danger 
hangs  an  offering  on  her  shrine  in  memory  of  the  event. 
It  is  sometimes  a  rude  picture  representing  the  event  itself, 
and  sometimes  it  is  a  silver  hand,  leg,  arm,  or  heart,  to 
indicate  that  she  has  enabled  a  broken  limb  to  mend,  or  as 
a  sign  of  gratitude.  If  one  is  stricken  by  disease  it  is  her 
aid  that  is  invoked,  and  her  favor  is  bought  by  promises 
of  candles  to  be  burned  at  her  shrine,  and  if  the  person  be 
rich,  by  costly  offerings  of  diamond  necklaces,  crowns,  and 
brooches,  which,  in  the  event  of  recovery,  are  hung  about 
her  images  and  pictures.  Nor  is  this  done  only  by  the 
ignorant  and  uneducated.  On  the  road  to  Bello  Sguardo 
may  be  seen  a  shrine  erected  to  the  Madonna  by  the  late 
grand  -  duke  of  Tuscany,  in  grateful  recognition  of  her 
divine  aid  in  saving  on  this  spot  the  life  of  himself  and 


186  ROBA  Dl  ROMA, 

two  of  his  children,  who  were  nearly  killed  here  by  a  car- 
riage. Even  during  health  a  continuance  of  her  favor 
and  protection  is  invoked  by  the  same  means  —  just  as  the 
ancient  Romans  implored  the  assistance  of  their  gods,  or 
commemorated  their  gratitude  for  past  favors  by  votive 
offerings  hung  up  in  the  temples.  Some  of  the  oldest  ef- 
figies of  the  Virgin  are  rich  in  these  presents ;  and  gems 
which  are  a  fortune  in  themselves  (unless  the  originals 
have  been  changed  for  paste  imitations)  may  be  seen  glit- 
tering on  their  dark  necks  and  bosoms.  Indeed  a  mali- 
cious story  runs  that  a  magnificent  necklace  of  diamonds 
worn  by  one  of  the  Roman  princesses  once  adorned  the 
neck  of  a  Madonna,  and  was  sold  by  the  Church  to  its 
present  owner.  However  this  may  be,  the  universal  rev- 
erence paid  by  persons  of  all  ranks  to  the  Madonna  is  a 
striking  feature  of  every  Roman  Catholic  country,  and  in 
Rome,  the  head  of  Catholicism,  it  attains  its  height. 

Among  the  Roman  people  this  worship  of  the  Madonna 
is  genuine  and  unaffected.  Go  where  you  will,  her  image 
consecrates  the  place.  On  the  walls  of  the  stable,  over 
the  garden-gate,  in  the  wine-shop,  the  hovel,  and  the 
palace,  it  is  everywhere  to  be  seen,  sometimes  represented 
by  a  wretched  colored  lithograph,  sometimes  by  a  black 
print,  sometimes  by  a  glazed  tile,  and  sometimes  by  an 
antique  head  or  figure,  which  has  changed  its  name  and 
worship.  Unexpected  transformations  take  place  in  Rome, 
and  the  statues  of  the  ancient  gods  are  sometimes  re- 
ceived into  the  Church  by  a  new  and  Christian  baptism. 
For  instance,  on  the  road  from  the  railway  station  to  Al- 
bano  there  is  a  little  osteria  where  for  many  a  year  might 
be  seen  over  the  door  a  small  antique  figure  in  marble  rep- 
resenting Fortune,  half-seated  and  resting  against  a  wheel 
behind  it,  while  its  eyes  were  blinded  by  a  band.  From 
this  figure  the  osteria  was  called  La  Ciechina  (the  Blind 
Girl),  and  was  known  by  this  name  to  all  the  neighbor- 
hood. Mac  was  recounting  this  story  in  his  musing  way 
the  other  day,  while  walking  up  to  Albano  with  a  friend, 
and  as  they  approached  the  osteria  he  turned  round  to 
point  out  the  statue  in  corroboration  of  his  story,  saying, 
"  There,  you  will  see  at  once  that.it  is  an  antique  statue  of 


FORTUNE  AND   THE  MADONNA.  187 

Fortune,"  when  suddenly  he  stopped,  for  nothing  of  the 
kind  was  visible.  In  its  stead  was  a  figure,  manifestly 
antique,  but  representing  the  Madonna.  The  laugh  was 
certainly  against  him  at  first,  but  he  had  the  best  of  it  at 
last,  for  a  careful  examination  showed  how  the  transfor- 
mation had  taken  place.  The  band  had  been  chiselled  from 
Fortune's  eyes,  the  upper  circle  of  the  wheel  on  which  she 
stood  had  been  broken  away  so  as  to  leave  only  a  small  arc 
under  her  feet,  and  lo  !  Fortune  had  changed  into  the 
Madonna,  standing  upon  the  crescent,  and  is  now  wor- 
shipped in  her  niche  over  the  door  by  the  passing  peasants, 
and  has  her  novena  played  before  her  in  December  as  if 
she  had  always  been  legitimately  entitled  to  it. 

The  Madonna  is  the  special  patron  of  the  filatrici  (the 
spinners)  ;  and  it  is  a  pretty  superstition  among  the  peas- 
antry in  Italy  that  the  dewy  gossamers  found  on  the  grass 
in  the  morning  are  threads  and  fragments  blown  from  her 
distaff.  The  swallows,  too,  are  under  her  special  favor, 
and  to  kill  them  brings  ill-luck.  In  nearly  all  the  cities  of 
Tuscany,  owing  to  this  belief,  swarms  of  swifts  may  be 
seen  hurtling  to  and  fro  with  a  constant  sharp  whistle,  and 
haunting  with  perfect  impunity  the  tall  campanili.  In  the 
great  piazza  at  Siena  and  round  the  Campo  tower  they  are 
so  thick  sometimes  that  it  seems  as  if  it  was  snowing  swal- 
lows ;  and  in  the  eaves  and  under  the  grotesque  spouts  of 
the  Duomo  they  make  their  nests  and  whirl  through  the 
arches  with  a  pleasant  familiarity.  The  doves  of  San 
Marco  at  Venice  are  also  saved  by  a  similar  superstition. 
They  haunt  that  superb  piazza  and  the  glittering  pinnacles 
of  the  cathedral,  floating  to  and  fro  in  the  soft  blue  air, 
and  alighting  upon  the  manes  of  the  bronze  horses  with 
entire  fearlessness,  and  thus  are  not  only  safe  from  the  de- 
structive hand  of  man,  but  are  fed  at  the  public  expense. 
All  this  is  the  more  remarkable  in  Italy,  where  the  people 
kill  and  eat  every  little  bird  that  they  can  lay  their  hands 
upon. 

It  is  also  a  legend  that  the  Madonna  said  to  the  serpent, 
"  Will  you  be  good  to  man  ?  "  and  the  serpent  answered, 
"  I  will  not."  "  Then  crawl  and  trail  on  the  ground  for* 
ever  and  be  accursed,"  she  said.  And  so  it  is.  Then 


188  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

turning  to  the  lizard,  she  said,  "  Will  you  be  good  to  man?  " 
and  the  lizard  answered,  "  I  will."  "  Then  shall  you 
have  legs  to  run,  and  shall  be  loved  and  cherished.  And 
so  it  is. 

And  here  I  am  reminded  of  an  incident  which  illus- 
trates the,  reverential  habit  of  the  Italians  for  the  Ma- 
donna. R.  was  a  young  traveller,  who  on  first  coming  to 
Rome  brought  a  letter  to  M.,  who  gave  him  many  a 
glimpse  into  the  familiar  habits  of  the  Italians,  made  pleas- 
ant his  sojourn  in  Rome,  and  on  his  leaving  for  Naples, 
whispered  some  kindly  hints  and  sketches  of  the  Neapoli- 
tans. "  Never  was  there  so  polite  a  people,"  said  he, 
"  and  they  expect  you  of  course  to  be  polite  to  them  in 
turn.  For  instance,  they  never  take  their  seat  in  front  of 
you  in  any  public  place  without  saluting  you  and  begging 
your  pardon.  If  the  lady  at  the  opposite  balcony  shut  her 
blind,  she  bows  to  you  as  if  to  say  'by  your  leave,'  and  to 
show  you  that  she  does  not  close  them  against  you ;  and 
when  this  is  done  take  care  to  return  the  salutation,  or  you 
will  run  the  risk  of  being  thought  to  be  ill-bred."  Filled 
with  this  good  counsel,  off  went  R.,  carrying  a  letter  to  an 
English  chemist  there.  Upon  presenting  this  letter  he 
found  the  chemist  very  busy  preparing  a  prescription. 
"  Pray  excuse  me  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,"  said  he,  after 
the  first  salutation,  "  and  then  I  am  entirely  at  your  ser- 
vice." R.  lifted  his  hat,  begged  him  to  take  his  time, 
saying  he  would  wait  for  him  just  outside  the  door,  and 
amuse  himself  with  what  was  passing  in  the  street.  When- 
ever the  chemist  glanced  up  from  his  work  he  observed  R. 
saluting  somebody,  a  fact  which  struck  him  as  very  odd, 
inasmuch  as  he  supposed  him  to  be  a  stranger  in  Naples. 
He  said  nothing,  however,  for  some  time,  but  finall-y  his 
curiosity  became  so  excited  that  he  came  to  the  door  to 
see  what  his  friend  was  about.  There,  to  his  amazement, 
he  beheld  him  smiling  and  taking  off  his  hat  to  every  one 
that  passed,  in  so  absurd  a  way  that  he  cried  out,  '•  What 
under  heavens  are  you  about  ?  "  "  Ah,"  said  R.,  wiping 
his  forehead,  and  freely  perspiring  with  his  exertions, 
"  what  a  people,  what  a  people !  I  never  saw  anything 
like  their  politeness.  Here  have  I  been  standing  for 


THE  MADONNA  SHRINE.  189 

nearly  half  an  hour,  and  every  person  that  passes  touches 
his  hat  or  takes  it  off  and  bows  to  me,  recognizing 
me,  I  suppose,  as  a  stranger  and  wishing  to  be  polite  to 
me.  Upon  my  soul,  it  is  finally  getting  to  be  rather  a 
bore  !  "  "  Polite  to  you  !  "  cried  the  chemist  -,  "  just  look 
up  behind  you,  my  friend,  and  you  will  see  that  you  are 
standing  under  a  Madonna  shrine,  and  that  all  the  passers- 
by  are  lifting  their  hats  or  making  a  salutation  of  rever- 
ence to  that,  and  not  of  politeness  to  you,  so  you  need  not 
bore  yourself  any  longer." 

The  great  procession  of  the  year  takes  place  in  June  on 
Corpus  Domini,  and  is  well  worth  seeing,  as  being  the 
finest  and  most  characteristic  of  all  the  Church  festivals. 
It  was  instituted  in  honor  of  the  famous  miracle  at  Bolsena, 
when  the  wafer  dripped  blood,  and  is  therefore  in  com- 
memoration of  one  of  the  cardinal  doctrines  of  the  Roman 
Church,  Transubstantiation,  and  one  of  its  most  dogmatical 
miracles.  The  Papal  procession  takes  place  in  the  morn- 
ing, in  the  piazza  of  St.  Peter's  ;  and  if  you  would  be 
sure  of  it,  you  must  be  on  the  spot  as  soon  as  eight  o'clock 
at  the  latest.  The  whole  circle  of  the  piazza  itself  is  cov- 
ered with  an  awning,  festooned  gayly  with  garlands  of 
box,  under  which  the  procession  passes  ;  and  the  ground  is 
covered  with  yellow  sand,  over  which  box  and  bay  are 
strewn.  The  celebration  commences  with  morning  mass  in 
the  basilica,  and  that  over,  the  procession  issues  from  one 
door,  and  making  the  whole  circuit  of  the  piazza,  returns 
into  the  church.  First  come  the  Seminaristi,  or  scholars 
and  attendants  of  the  various  hospitals  and  charity  schools, 
such  as  San  Michele  and  Santo  Spirito,  —  all  in  white. 
Then  follow  the  brown-cowled,  long-bearded  Franciscans, 
the  white  Carmelites,  and  the  black  Benedictines,  bearing 
lighted  candles  and  chanting  hoarsely  as  they  go.  You 
may  see  pass  before  you  now  all  the  members  of  these  dif- 
ferent conventual  orders  that  there  are  in  Rome,  and  have 
an  admirable  opportunity  to  study  their  physiognomies  in 
mass.  If  you  are  a  convert  to  Romanism,  you  will  per- 
haps find  in  their  bald  heads,  shaven  crowns,  and  bearded 
faces,  a  noble  expression  of  reverence  and  humility ;  but 
suffering  as  I  do  under  the  misfortune  of  being  a  heretic. 


190  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

I  could  but  remark  on  their  heads  an  enormous  develop- 
ment of  the  two  organs  of  reverence  and  firmness,  and  a 
singular  deficiency  in  the  upper  forehead,  while  there  was 
an  almost  universal  enlargement  of  the  lower  jaw  and  of 
the  base  of  the  brain.  Being,  unfortunately,  a  friend  of 
Phrenology,  as  well  as  a  heretic,  I  drew  no  very  auspi- 
cious augury  from  these  developments  ;  and  looking  into 
their  faces,  the  physiognomical  traits  were  narrow-minded- 
ness, bigotry,  or  cunning.  The  Benedictine  heads  showed 
more  intellect  and  will ;  the  Franciscans  more  dulness  and 
good-nature. 

But  while  I  am  criticising  them  they  are  passing  by,  and 
a  picturesque  set  of  fellows  they  are.  Much  as  I  dislike 
the  conventual  creed,  I  should  be  sorry  to  see  the  costume 
disappear.  Directly  on  the  heels  of  their  poverty  come  the 
three  splendid  triple  crowns  of  the  Pope,  glittering  with 
gorgeous  jewels,  borne  in  triumph  on  silken  embroidered 
cushions,  and  preceded  by  the  court  jeweller.  After 
them  follow  the  chapters,  canons,  and  choirs  of  the  seven 
basilicas,  chanting  in  lofty  altos,  solid  basses,  and  clear 
ringing  tenors  from  their  old  church  books,  each  basilica 
bearing  a  typical  tent  of  colored  stripes  and  a  wooden 
campanile  with  a  bell  which  is  constantly  rung.  Next 
come  the  canons  of  the  churches  and  the  monsignori,  in 
splendid  dresses  and  rich  capes  of  beautiful  lace  falling 
below  their  waists  ;  the  bishops  clad  in  cloth  of  silver  with 
mitres  on  their  heads ;  the  cardinals  brilliant  in  gold  em- 
broidery and  gleaming  in  the  sun ;  and  at  last  the  Pope 
himself,  borne  on  a  platform  splendid  with  silver  and  gold, 
with  a  rich  canopy  over  his  head.  Beneath  this  he  kneels, 
or  rather,  seems  to  kneel ;  for,  though  his  costly  draperies 
and  train  are  skilfully  arranged  so  as  to  present  this  sem- 
blance, being  drawn  behind  him  over  two  blocks  which  are 
so  placed  as  to  represent  his  heels,  yet  in  fact  he  is  seated 
on  a  sunken  bench  or  chair,  as  any  careful  eye  can  plainly 
see.  However,  kneeling  or  sitting,  just  as  you  will,  there 
he  is,  be.fore  an  altar,  holding  up  the  ostia  which  is  the  cor- 
pus Domini,  "the  body  of  God,"  and  surrounded  by  offi- 
cers of  the  Swiss  guards  in  glittering  armor,  chamberlains 
in  their  beautiful  black  and  Spanish  dresses  with  ruffs 


PAPAL  PROCESSION.  191 

and  swords,  attendants  in  scarlet  and  purple  costumes, 
and  the  guardie  nob  Hi  in  their  red-dress  uniforms.  Noth- 
ing could  be  more  striking  than  this  group.  It  is  the  very 
type  of  the  Church,  —  pompous,  rich,  splendid,  imposing. 
After  them  follow  the  dragoons  mounted,  —  first  a  com- 
pany on  black  horses,  then  another  on  bays,  and  then  a 
third  on  grays ;  foot  soldiers  with  flashing  bayonets  bring 
up  the  rear,  and  close  the  procession.  As  the  last  soldiers 
enter  the  church,  there  is  a  stir  among  the  gilt  equipages  of 
the  cardinals  which  line  one  side  of  the  piazza,  —  the 
horses  toss  their  scarlet  plumes,  the  liveried  servants  sway 
as  the  carriages  lumber  on,  and  you  may  spend  a  half- 
hour  hunting  out  your  own  humble  vehicle,  if  you  have 
one,  or  throng  homeward  on  foot  with  the  crowd  through 
the  Borgo  and  over  the  bridge  of  Sant'  Angelo.1 

This  grand  procession  strikes  the  key-note  of  all  the 
others  ;  and  in  the  afternoon  each  parish  brings  out  its 
banners,  arrays  itself  in  its  choicest  dresses,  and  with 
pomp  and  music  bears  the  ostia  through  the  streets,  the 
crowd  kneeling  before  it,  and  the  priests  chanting.'  Dur- 
ing the  next  ottava,  or  eight  days,  all  the  processions  take 
place  in  honor  of  this  festival ;  and  the  week  having 
passed,  everything  ends  with  the  Papal  procession  in 
St.  Peter's  piazza,  when,  without  music,  and  with  un- 
covered heads,  the  Pope,  cardinals,  monsignori,  canons, 
and  the  rest  of  the  priests  and  officials,  make  the  round 
of  the  piazza,  bearing  great  church  banners. 

One  of  the  most  striking  of  their  celebrations  took 
place  this  year  at  the  church  of  San  Rocco  in  the  Ripetta, 
when  the  church  was  made  splendid  with  lighted  candles 
and  gold  bands,  and  a  preacher  held  forth  to  a  crowded 
audience  in  the  afternoon.  At  Ave  Maria  there  was  a 
great  procession,  with  banners,  music,  and  torches,  and  all 
the  evening  the  people  sauntered  to  and  fro  in  crowds 
before  the  church,  where  a  platform  was  erected  and 
draped  with  old  tapestries,  from  which  a  band  played 
constantly.  Do  not  believe,  my  dear  Presbyterian  friend, 
that  these  spectacles  fail  deeply  to  affect  the  common 

1  Since  1870  this  imposing  and  truly  magnificent  procession  in  the 
Piazza  San  Pietro  has  not  been  seen. 


192  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

mind.  So  long  as  human  nature  remains  the  same,  this 
splendor  and  pomp  of  processions,  these  lighted  torches 
and  ornamented  churches,  this  triumphant  music  and  glad 
holiday  of  religion,  will  attract  more  than  your  plain  con- 
venticles, your  ugly  meeting-houses,  and  your  compromise 
with  the  bass-viol.  For  my  own  part,  I  do  not  believe 
that  music  and  painting  and  all  the  other  arts  really  be- 
long to  the  devil,  or  that  God  gave  him  joy  and  beauty 
to  deceive  with,  and  kept  only  the  ugly,  sour,  and  sad  for 
himself.  We  are  always  better  when  we  are  happy  ;  and 
we  are  about  as  sure  of  being  good  when  we  are  happy 
as  of  being  happy  when  we  are  good.  Cheerfulness  and 
happiness  are,  in  my  humble  opinion,  duties  and  habits 
to  be  cultivated  ;  but  if  you  don't  think  so,  I  certainly 
would  not  deny  you  the  privilege  of  being  wretched  ;  don't 
let  us  quarrel  about  it. 

Rather  let  us  turn  to  the  Artists'  Festival,  which  takes 
place  in  this  month,  and  is  one  of  the  great  attractions  of 
the  season.  Formerly  this  festival  took  place  at  Cer- 
bara,  SRI  ancient  Etruscan  town  on  the  Campagna,  of 
which  only  certain  subterranean  caves  remain.  But  dur- 
ing the  revolutionary  days  which  followed  the  disasters 
of  1848,  it  was  suspended  for  two  or  three  years  by  the 
interdict  of  the  Papal  government,  and  when  it  was  again 
instituted,  the  place  of  the  meeting  was  changed  to  Fidense, 
the  site  of  another  Etruscan  town,  with  similar  subter- 
ranean excavations,  which  were  made  the  headquarters 
of  the  festival.  But  the  new  railway  to  Bologna  having 
been  laid  out  directly  over  this  ground,  the  artists  have 
been  again  driven  away,  and  this  year  the/esta  was  held 
for  the  first  time  in  the  groves  of  Egeria,  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  spots  on  the  whole  Campagna,  —  and  here  it  is 
to  be  hoped  it  will  have  an  abiding  rest. 

This  festival  was  instituted  by  the  German  artists,  and 
though  the  artists  of  all  nations  now  join  in  it,  the  Ger- 
mans still  remain  its  special  patrons  and  directors.  Early 
in  the  morning,  the  artists  rendezvous  at  an  appointed 
o&teria  outside  the  walls,  dressed  in  every  sort  of  gro- 
tesque and  ludicrous  costume  which  can  be  imagined.  All 
the  old  dresses  which  can  be  rummaged  out  of  the  studios 


ARTISTS'  FESTIVAL.  193 

or  theatres,  or  pieced  together  from  masking  wardrobes, 
are  now  in  requisition.  Indians  and  Chinese,  ancient 
warriors  and  mediaeval  heroes,  militia-men  and  Punches, 
generals  in  top-boots  and  pig-tails,  doctors  in  gigantic 
wigs  and  smallclothes,  Falstaffs  and  justices  "  with  fair 
round  belly  with  good  capon  lined,"  magnificent  foolscaps, 
wooden  swords  with  terrible  inscriptions,  gigantic  cha- 
peaux  with  plumes  made  of  vegetables  —  in  a  word,  every 
imaginable  absurdity  is  to  be  seen.  Arrived  at  the  place 
of  rendezvous,  they  all  breakfast,  and  then  the  line  of 
march  is  arranged.  A  great  wooden  cart  adorned  with 
quaint  devices,  and  garlanded  with  laurel  and  bay,  bears 
the  president  and  committee.  This  is  drawn  by  great 
white  oxen,  who  are  decorated  with  wreaths  and  flowers 
and  gay  trappings,  and  from  it  floats  the  noble  banner  of 
Cerbara  or  Fidenae.  After  this  follows  a  strange  and 
motley  train, —  some  mounted  on  donkeys,  some  on  horses, 
and  some  afoot,  —  and  the  line  of  march  is  taken  up  for 
the  grove  of  Egeria.  What  mad  jests  and  wild  fun  now 
take  place  it  is  impossible  to  describe ;  suffice  it  to  say, 
that  all  are  glad  of  a  little  rest  when  they  reach  their 
destination. 

Now  begin  to  stream  out  from  the  city  hundreds  of 
carriages,  - —  for  all  the  world  will  be  abroad  to-day  to  see, 
— -  and  soon  the  green  slopes  are  swarming  with  gay 
crowds.  Some  bring  with  them  a  hamper  of  provisions 
and  wine,  and,  spreading  them  on  the  grass,  lunch  and 
dine  when  and  where  they  will ;  but  those  who  would 
dine  with  the  artists  must  have  the  order  of  the  mezzo 
baiocco  hanging  to  their  buttonhole,  which  is  distributed 
previously  in  Rome  to  all  the  artists  who  purchase  tickets. 
Some  few  there  are  who  also  bear  upon  their  breasts  the 
nobler  medal  of  troppo  merito,  gained  on  previous  days, 
and  these  are  looked  upon  with  due  reverence. 

But  before  dinner  or  lunch  there  is  a  high  ceremony 
to  take  place  — the  great  feature  of  the  day.  It  is  the 
mock-heroic  play.  This  year  (1858)  it  was  the  meeting 
of  Numa  with  the  nymph  Egeria  at  the  grotto;  and  thither 
went  the  festive  procession  ;  and  the  priests,  befilleted 
and  draped  in  white,  burned  upon  the  altar  as  a  sacrifice 
13 


194  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

a  great  toy  sheep,  whose  wool  "  smelt  to  heaven  ; "  and 
then  from  the  niches  suddenly  appeared  Numa,  a  gallant 
German  in  spectacles,  with  Egeria,  a  Spanish  artist  with 
white  dress  and  fillet,  who  made  vows  over  the  smoking 
sheep,  and  were  escorted  back  to  the  sacred  grove  with 
festal  music  by  a  joyous,  turbulent  crowd. 

Last  year,  however,  at  Fidenae,  it  was  better.  We  had 
a  travesty  of  the  taking  of  Troy,  which  was  eminently 
ludicrous,  and  which  deserves  a  better  description  than  I 
can  give.  Troy  was  a  place  enclosed  within  paper  bar- 
riers, about  breast-high,  painted  "  to  present  a  wall,"  and 
within  these  were  the  Trojans,  clad  in  red,  and  all  wear- 
ing gigantic  paper  helmets.  There  was  old  Priam,  in 
spectacles,  with  his  crown  and  robes ;  Laocoon,  in  white, 
with  a  white  wool  beard  and  wig ;  Ulysses,  in  a  long, 
yellow  beard  and  mantle  ;  and  ./Eneas,  with  a  bald  head, 
in  a  blue,  long-tailed  coat,  and  tall  dicky,  looking  like 
the  traditional  Englishman  in  the  circus  who  comes  to 
hire  the  horse.  The  Grecians  were  encamped  at  a  short 
distance.  All  had  round,  basket-work  shields,  —  some 
with  their  names  painted  on  them  in  great  letters,  and 
some  with  an  odd  device,  such  as  a  cat  or  pig.  There 
were  Ulysses,  Agamemnon,  Ajax,  Hector,  Patroclus,  Di- 
omedes.  Achilles,  "  all  honorable  men."  The  drama  com- 
menced with  the  issuing  of  Paris  and  Helen  from  the 
walls  of  Troy,  he  in  a  tall,  black  French  hat,  girdled  with 
a  gilt  crown,  and  she  in  a  white  dress,  with  a  great  wig 
dropping  round  her  face  a  profusion  of  carroty  curls. 
Queer  figures  enough  they  were,  as  they  stepped  along  to- 
gether, caricaturing  love  in  a  pantomime,  he  making  terri- 
ble demonstrations  of  his  ardent  passion,  and  she  finally 
falling  on  his  neck  in  rapture.  This  over,  they  seated 
themselves  near  by  two  large  pasteboard  rocks,  he  sitting 
on  his  shield  and  taking  out  his  flute  to  play  to  her,  while 
she  brought  forth  her  knitting  and  ogled  him  as  he  played. 
While  they  were  thus  engaged,  came  creeping  up  with 
the  stage  stride  of  a  double  step,  and  dragging  one  foot 
behind  him,  Menelaus,  whom  Thersites  had,  meantime, 
been  taunting  by  pointing  at  him  two  great  ox-horns.  He 
walked  all  round  the  lovers,  pantomiming  rage  and  jeal- 


ARTISTS'  FESTIVAL.  195 

ousy  in  the  accredited  ballet  style,  and  suddenly  approach- 
ing, crushed  poor  Paris's  great  black  hat  down  over  his 
eyes.  Both,  very  much  frightened,  then  took  to  their  heels 
and  rushed  into  .the  city,  while  Menelaus,  after  shaking 
Paris's  shield  in  defiance  at  the  walls,  retired  to  the 
Grecian  camp.  Then  came  the  preparations  for  battle. 
The  Trojans  leaned  over  their  paper  battlements,  with 
their  fingers  to  their  noses,  twiddling  them  in  scorn,  while 
the  Greeks  shook  their  fists  back  at  them.  The  battle 
now  commenced  on  the  "ringing  plains  of  Troy,"  and 
was  eminently  ludicrous.  Paris,  in  hat  and  pantaloons 
(«  la  mode  de  Paris),  soon  showed  the  white  feather, 
and  incontinently  fled.  Everybody  hit  nowhere,  fiercely 
striking  the  ground  or  the  shields,  and  always  carefully 
avoiding,  as  on  the  stage,  to  hit  in  the  right  place.  At 
last,  however,  Patroclus  was  killed,  whereupon  the  bat- 
tle was  suspended,  and  a  grand  tableau  of  surprise  and 
horror  took  place,  from  which  they  soon  recovered,  and 
the  Greeks  prepared  to  carry  him  off  on  their  shoulders. 
Terrible  to  behold  was  the  grief  of  Achilles.  Homer 
himself  would  have  wept  to  see  him.  He  flung  himself 
on  the  body,  and  shrieked,  and  tore  his  hair,  and  vio- 
lently shook  the  corpse,  which  under  such  demonstra- 
tions, now  and  then  kicked  up.  Finally  he  rises  and 
challenges  Hector  to  single  combat,  and  out  comes  the 
valiant  Trojan,  and  a  duel  ensues  with  wooden  axes. 
Such  blows  and  counter-blows  were  never  seen,  only  they 
never  hit,  but  often  whirled  the  warrior  who  dealt  them 
completely  round  ;  they  tumbled  over  their  own  blows, 
panted  with  feigned  rage,  lost  their  robes  and  great  paste- 
board helmets,  and  were  even  more  absurd  than  any  Rich- 
mond and  Richard  on  the  country  boards  of  a  fifth-rate 
theatre.  But  Hector  is  at  last  slain  and  borne  away,  and 
a  ludicrous  lay  figure  is  laid  out  to  represent  him,  with 
bunged-up  eyes  and  a  general  flabbiness  of  body  and  want 
of  features  charming  to  behold.  On  their  necks  the  Tro- 
jans bear  him  to  their  walls,  and  with  a  sudden  jerk  pitch 
him  over  them  head  first,  and  he  tumbles  in  a  heap  into 
the  city. 

Ulysses  then  harangues  the  Greeks.     He  has  brought 


196  ROBA  Dl  ROMA. 

out  a  quarteruola  cask  of  wine,  which,  with  most  expres- 
sive pantomime,  he  shows  to  be  the  wooden  horse  that 
must  be  carried  into  Troy.  His  proposition  is  joyfully  ac- 
cepted, and  accompanied  by  *JQ,  he  rolls  the  cask  up  to  the 
walls,  and,  flourishing  a  tin  cup  in  one  hand,  invites  the 
Trojans  to  partake.  At  first  there  is  confusion  in  the  city, 
and  fingers  are  twiddled  over  the  walls,  but  after  a  time 
all  go  out  and  drink  and  become  ludicrously  drunk,  and 
stagger  about,  embracing  each  other  in  the  most  maudlin 
style.  Even  Helen  herself  comes  out,  gets  tipsy  with  the 
rest,  and  dances  about  like  the  most  disreputable  of  Mae- 
nades.  A  great  scena,  however,  takes  place  as  they  are 
about  to  drink.  Laocoon,  got  up  in  white  wool,  appears, 
and  violently  endeavors  to  dissuade  them,  but  in  vain.  In 
the  midst  of  his  harangue  long  strings  of  blown-up  sau- 
sage-skins are  dragged  in  for  the  serpents,  and  suddenly 
cast  about  his  neck.  His  sons  and  he  then  form  a  group, 
the  sausage-snakes  are  twisted  about  them,  —  only  the  old 
story  is  reversed,  and  he  bites  the  serpents,  instead  of  the 
serpents  biting  him,  —  and  all  die  in  agony,  travestying 
the  ancient  group. 

All  being  now  drunk  go  in,  and  Ulysses  with  them.  A 
quantity  of  straw  is  kindled,  the  smoke  rises,  the  Greeks 
approach  and  dash  in  the  paper  walls  with  clubs,  and  all 
is  confusion.  Then  ./Eneas,  in  his  blue,  long-tailed  circus- 
coat,  broad  white  hat,  and  tall  shirt-collar,  carries  oft'  old 
Anchises  on  his  shoulders  with  a  cigar  in  his  mouth,  and 
bears  him  to  a  painted  section  of  a  vessel,  which  is  rocked 
to  and  fro  by  hand,  as  if  violently  agitated  by  the  waves. 
^Eneas  and  Anchises  enter  the  boat,  or  rather  stand  be- 
hind it  so  as  to  conceal  their  legs,  and  off  it  sets,  rocked 
to  and  fro  constantly,  —  ^Eolus  and  Tramontana  following 
behind,  with  bellows  to  blow  up  a  wind,  and  Fair  Weather, 
with  his  name  written  on  his  back,  accompanying  them. 
The  violent  motion,  however,  soon  makes  ./Eneas  sick,  and 
as  he  leans  over  the  side  in  a  helpless  and  melancholy 
manner,  and  almost  gives  up  the  ghost,  as  well  as  more 
material  things,  the  crowd  burst  into  laughter.  How- 
ever, at  last  they  reach  two  painted  rocks,  and  found  La- 
tium,  and  a  general  rejoicing  takes  place.  The  donkey 


/AT  THE    VILLAS.  197 

who  was  to  have  ended  all  by  dragging  the  body  of  Hec- 
tor round  the  walls  came  too  late,  and  this  part  of  the  pro- 
gramme did  not  take  place. 

So  much  of  the  entertainment  over,  preparations  are 
made  for  dinner.  In  the  grove  of  Egeria  the  plates  are 
spread  in  circles,  while  all  the  company  sing  part-songs 
and  dance.  At  last  all  is  ready,  the  signal  is  given,  and 
the  feast  takes  place  after  the  most  rustic  manner.  Great 
barrels  of  wine  covered  with  green  branches  stand  at  one 
side,  from  which  flagons  are  tilled  and  passed  round,  and 
the  good  appetites  soon  make  direful  gaps  in  the  beef  and 
mighty  plates  of  lettuce.  After  this,  and  a  little  saunter- 
ing about  for  digestion's  sake,  come  the  afternoon  sports. 
And  there  are  donkey-races,  and  tilting  at  a  ring,  and 
foot-races,  and  running  in  sacks.  Nothing  can  be  more 
picturesque  than  the  scene,  with  its  motley  masqueraders, 
its  crowds  of  spectators  seated  along  the  slopes,  its  little 
tents  here  and  there,  its  races  in  the  valley,  and,  above  all, 
the  glorious  mountains  looking  down  from  the  distance. 
Not  till  the  golden  light  slopes  over  the  Campagna,  gild- 
ing the  skeletons  of  aqueducts  and  drawing  a  delicate  veil 
of  beauty  over  the  mountains,  can  we  tear  ourselves  away 
and  rattle  back  in  our  carriage  to  Rome.1 

The  wealthy  Roman  families,  who  have  villas  in  the  im- 
mediate vicinity  of  Rome,  now  leave  the  city  to  spend  a 
month  in  them  and  breathe  the  fresh  air  of  spring.  Many 
and  many  a  tradesman  who  is  well  to  do  in  the  world  has 
a  little  vineyard  outside  the  gates,  where  hs  raises  vege- 
tables, grapes,  and  other  fruits  ;  and  every  festa-d&y  you 
will  be  sure  to  find  him  and  his  family  out  in  his  little  vil- 
letfa,  wandering  about  the  grounds  or  sitting  beneath  his 
arbors,  smoking  and  chatting  with  his  children  around  him. 
His  friends  who  have  no  villas  of  their  own  here  visit  him, 
and  often  there  is  a  considerable  company  thus  collected, 
who,  if  one  may  judge  from  their  cheerful  countenances 
and  much  laughter,  enjoy  themselves  mightily.  Knock 

1  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that  this  festival  has  of  late  greatly  degener- 
ated, but  I  cannot  so  affirm  from  personal  knowledge,  as  it  is  many 
years  since  I  attended  it. 


198  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

at  any  of  these  villa-gates,  and,  if  you  happen  to  have  the 
acquaintance  of  the  owner,  or  are  evidently  a  stranger  of 
respectability,  you  will  be  received  with  much  hospitality, 
invited  to  partake  of  the  fruit  and  wine,  and  overwhelmed 
with  thanks  for  your  gentilezza  when  you  take  your  leave ; 
for  the  Italians  are  a  most  good-natured  and  social  peo- 
ple, and  nothing  pleases  them  better  than  a  stranger  who 
breaks  the  common  round  of  topics  by  accounts  of  his  own 
land.  Everything  new  is  to  them  wonderful,  just  as  it  is 
to  a  child.  They  are  credulous  of  everything  you  tell 
them  about  America,  which  is  to  them  in  some  measure 
what  it  was  to  the  English  in  the  days  of  Raleigh,  Drake, 
and  Hawkins,  and  say  "  Per  JBacco  !  "  to  every  new  state- 
ment. And  they  are  so  magnificently  ignorant  that  you 
have  carte  blanche  for  your  stories.  Never  did  I  know 
any  one  staggered  by  anything  I  chose  to  say,  but  once, 
and  then  I  stated  a  simple  fact.  I  was  walking  with  my 
respectable  old  padrone  Nisi  about  his  little  garden  one 
day,  when  an  ambition  to  know  something  about  America 
inflamed  his  breast. 

"  Are  there  any  mountains  ?  "  he  asked. 

I  told  him  "  Yes,"  and,  with  a  chuckle  of  delight,  he 
cried,  — 

"  Per  Bacco  !     And  have  you  any  cities  ?  " 

"Yes,  a  few  little  ones."  He  was  evidently  pleased 
that  they  were  small,  and,  swelling  with  natural  pride, 
said,  — 

"  Large  as  Rome,  of  course,  they  could  not  be  ; "  then, 
after  a  moment,  he  added,  interrogatively,  "  And  rivers 
too,  —  have  you  any  rivers  ?  " 

"  A  few,"  I  answered. 

"  But  not  as  large  as  our  Tiber,"  he  replied,  feeling 
assured  that,  if  the  cities  were  smaller  than  Rome,  as  a 
necessary  consequence,  the  rivers  that  flowed  by  them  must 
be  in  the  same  category. 

The  bait  now  offered  was  too  tempting,  and  I  was  fool- 
ish enough  to  say,  — 

"  We  have  some  rivers  three  thousand  miles  long." 

I  had  scarcely  said  these  words  when  I  regretted  them. 
He  stood  and  stared  at  me,  as  if  petrified,  for  a  moment 


THE  ITALIANS  AND  AMERICA.  199 

Then  the  blood  rushed  into  his  face,  and,  turning  on  his 
heel,  he  took  off  his  hat,  said  suddenly,  "  Buona  sera," 
and  carried  my  fact  and  his  opinions  together  up  into  his 
private  room.  I  am  afraid  that  Ser  Pietro  decided,  on 
consideration,  that  I  had  been  taking  unwarrantable  liber- 
ties with  him  and  exceeding  all  proper  bounds  in  my  at- 
tempt to  impose  on  his  good-nature.  From  that  time 
forward  he  asked  me  no  more  questions  about  America. 

And  here,  by  the  way,  I  am  reminded  of  an  incident 
which,  though  not  exactly  pertinent,  may  find  here  a  paren- 
thetical place,  merely  as  illustrating  some  points  of  Italian 
character.  One  fact  and  two  names  relating  to  America 
they  know  universally,  —  Columbus  and  his  discovery  of 
America,  and  Washington. 

"/SI,  Signore"  said  a  respectable  person  some  time  since, 
as  he  was  driving  me  to  see  a  carriage  which  he  wished  to 
sell  me,  and  therefore  desired  to  be  particularly  polite  to 
me  and  my  nation,  —  "  a  great  man  your  Vashintoni !  but 
I  was  sorry  to  hear  the  other  day  that  his  father  had  died 
in  London." 

"  His  father  dead,  and  in  London  ?  "  I  stammered,  com- 
pletely confounded  at  this  extraordinary  news,  and  fearing 
lest  I  had  been  too  stupid  in  misunderstanding  him. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  it  is  too  true  that  his  father  Vellintoni 
is  dead.  I  read  it  in  the  Diario  di  Roma" 

The  Italians  have  also  a  sort  of  personal  pride  in 
America,  on  the  ground  that  it  was  discovered  by  an 
Italian,  without  whom,  chi  sa  if  we  should  ever  have  been 
discovered,  and  also,  if  they  happen  to  know  the  fact, 
because  Botta  wrote  a  history  of  it.  In  going  from  Leg- 
horn to  Genoa,  I  once  met  a  good-humored  Frate,  who, 
having  discovered  that  I  was  an  American,  fraternized 
with  me,  kindly  offered  me  snuff,  and  at  once  began,  as 
usual,  a  discourse  on  Columbus.  So  he  informed  me  that 
Columbus  was  an  Italian,  and  that  he  had  discovered 
America,  and  was  a  remarkable  man ;  to  all  of  which  I 
readily  assented,  as  being  true,  if  not  new.  But  now  a 
severe  abstract  question  began  to  tax  my  friend's  powers. 
He  said,  "  But  how  could  he  ever  have  imagined  that  the 


200  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

continent  of  America  was  there?  That's  the  question. 
It  is  extraordinary  indeed !  "  And  so  he  sat  cogitating, 
and  saying,  at  intervals,  "  Curioso  !  Straordinario  !  "  At 
last  "  a  light  broke  in  upon  his  brain."  His  face  lightened, 
and,  looking  at  me,  he  said,  "  Oh  !  he  must  have  read  that 
it  was  there  in  some  old  book,  and  so  he  went  to  see  if  it 
were  true  or  not."  Vainly  I  endeavored  to  show  him  that 
this  view  would  deprive  Columbus  of  his  greatest  distinc- 
tion. He  answered  invariably,  " Sif  slf  ma,  via.  But 
without  having  read  it,  how  could  he  ever  have  known 
it  ?  "  —  thus  putting  the  earth  upon  the  tortoise  and  leaving 
the  tortoise  to  account  for  his  own  support. 

Imagine  that  I  have  told  you  .these  stories  sitting  under 
the  vine  and  fig-tree  of  some  little  villa,  while  Angiolina 
has  gone  to  call  the  padrone,  who  will  be  only  too  glad  to 
see  you.  But,  ecco  !  at  last  our  padrone  comes.  No,  it  is 
not  the  padrone,  it  is  the  vignaruolo,  who  takes  care  of 
his  grapes  and  garden,  and  who  recognizes  us  as  friends 
of  the  padrone,  and  tells  us  that  we  are  ourselves  padroni 
of  the  whole  place,  and  offers  us  all  sorts  of  fruits. 

One  old  custom,  which  existed  in  Rome  some  fifteen 
years  ago,  has  now  passed  away  with  other  good  old  things. 
It  was  the  celebration  of  the  Fravolata  or  Strawberry- Feast, 
when  men  in  gala-dress  at  the  height  of  the  strawberry 
season  went  in  procession  through  the  streets,  carrying  on 
their  heads  enormous  wooden  platters  heaped  with  this 
delicious  fruit,  accompanied  by  girls  in  costume,  who, 
beating  their  tamburelli,  danced  along  at  their  sides  and 
sang  the  praises  of  the  strawberry.  After  threading  the 
streets  of  the  city,  they  passed  singing  out  of  the  gates, 
and  at  different  places  on  the  Campagna  spent  the  day  in 
festive  sports  and  had  an  out-door  dinner  and  dance. 

Though  time  out  of  mind  May  is  not  the  month  to 
marry  in,  yet  it  is  undoubtedly  the  approved  month  to 
make  love  in.1  Marry  in  June  was  the  ancient  rule,  for 
June  was  consecrated  to  Juno,  who  presided  over  mar- 
riages ;  but  love  in  May,  when  the  earth  is  breaking  forth 
into  blossom,  leaf,  and  flower,  and  honors  are  paid  to  the 
Bona  Dea.  This  beautiful  month  was  formerly  celebrated 
1  "Mense  malas  Hajo  nubere  vulgus  ait,"  — says  Ovid. 


FLOWER  FESTIVAL.  201 

by  many  festivals  and  games,  not  all  of  them  of  a  very 
decorous  character,  when  Fescennine  verses  were  recited 
or  sung  in  alternation  by  the  peasants,  and  reminiscences 
of  some  of  them  may  still  be  recognized  in  vai-ious  parts 
of  Italy ;  one  of  them,  for  instance,  may  be  seen  in  the 
"  Infiorata"  or  Flower-festival,  which  is  celebrated  every 
May  in  the  picturesque  town  of  Genzano  that  lies  over  the 
old  crater  now  filled  by  the  still  waters  of  Lake  Nemi. 
It  takes  place  on  the  eighth  day  of  the  Corpus  Domini, 
and  is  supposed  to  receive  its  name  from  the  popular  cus- 
tom of  spreading  flowers  upon  the  pavements  of  the  streets 
so  as  to  represent  heraldic  devices,  figures,  arabesques,  and 
all  sorts  of  ornamental  designs ;  but  in  fact  it  seems  only 
a  relic  of  the  ancient  Floralia,  or  Ludi  Florales,  formerly 
celebrated  in  honor  of  Flora  during  five  days,  beginning 
on  the  28th  of  April  and  ending  on  the  2d  of  May.  The 
ancient  goddess  has  scarcely  changed  her  name,  and  under 
her  Catholic  baptism  of  Madonna  dei  Fiori  she  still  pre- 
sides over  these  rites ;  but  the  licentiousness  which  for- 
merly characterized  this  festival  has  passed  away,  and  only 
the  fun,  the  flowers,  and  the  gayety  remain.  On  this 
occasion  the  people  are  all  dressed  in  their  effective  cos- 
tumes, —  the  girls  in  bodices  and  silken  skirts,  with  all 
their  corals  and  jewels  on,  and  the  men  with  white  stock- 
ings on  their  legs,  their  velvet  jackets  dropping  over  one 
shoulder,  and  flowers  and  rosettes  in  their  conical  hats. 
The  town  is  then  very  gay,  the  bells  clang,  the  incense 
steams  from  the  censer  in  the  church,  where  the  organ 
peals  and  mass  is  said,  and  a  brilliant  procession  marches 
over  the  strewn  flower-mosaic,  with  music  and  crucifixes 
and  church  banners.  Hundreds  of  strangers,  too,  are 
there  to  look  on ;  and  on  the  Cesarini  Piazza  and  under 
the  shadow  of  the  long  avenues  of  ilexes  that  lead  to  the 
tower  are  hundreds  of  handsome  girls,  with  their  snowy 
tovaglie  peaked  over  their  heads.  The  rub  and  thrum  of 
tambourines  and  the  clicking  of  castanets  are  heard,  too, 
as  twilight  comes  on,  and  the  salterello  is  danced  by  many 
a  group.  This  is  the  national  Roman  dance,  and  is  named 
from  the  little  jumping  step  which  characterizes  it.  Any 
number  of  couples  dance  it,  though  the  dance  is  perfect 


202  ROB  A  DI  ROMA. 

•with  two.  Some  of  the  movements  are  very  graceful  and 
piquant,  and  particularly  that  where  one  of  the  dancers 
kneels  and  whirls  her  arms  on  high,  clicking  her  castanets, 
while  the  other  circles  her  round  and  round,  striking  his 
hands  together,  and  approaching  nearer  and  nearer,  till 
he  is  ready  to  give  her  a  kiss,  which  she  refuses.  Of 
course  it  is  the  old  story  of  every  national  dance,  —  love 
arid  repulse,  love  and  repulse,  until  the  maiden  yields. 
As  one  couple,  panting  and  rosy,  retires,  another  fresh  one 
takes  its  place,  while  the  bystanders  play  on  the  accordion 
the  whirling,  circling,  never-ending  tune  of  the  Tarantella, 
which  would  "  put  a  spirit  of  youth  in  everything." 

If  you  are  tired  of  the  festival,  roam  up  a  few  paces  out 
of  the  crowd,  and  you  stand  upon  the  brink  of  Lake  Nemi. 
Over  opposite,  and  crowning  the  height  where  the  little 
town  of  Nemi  perches,  frowns  the  old  feudal  castle  of  the 
Colonna,  with  its  tall  round  tower,  where  many  a  princely 
family  has  dwelt,  and  many  an  unprincely  act  has  been 
done.  There,  in  turn,  have  dwelt  the  Colonna,  Borgia, 
Piccolomini,  Cenci,  Frangipani,  and  Braschi,  and  there 
the  descendants  of  the  last-named  family  still  pass  a  few 
weeks  in  the  summer.  On  the  Genzano  side  stands  the 
castellated  villa  of  the  Cesarini  Sforza,  looking  peacefully 
across  the  lake  at  the  rival  tower,  which  in  the  old  baronial 
days  it  used  to  challenge,  —  and  in  its  garden  pond  you 
may  see  stately  white  swans  "  rowing  their  way  with  oary 
feet "  along.  Below  you,  silent  and  silvery,  lies  the  lako 
itself ;  and  rising  around  it,  like  a  green  bowl,  tower  its 
richly-wooded  banks,  covered  with  gigantic  oaks,  ilexes, 
and  chestnuts.  This  was  the  ancient  grove  dedicated  to 
Diana,  which  extended  to  L'Ariccia ;  and  here  are  still  to 
be  seen  the  vestiges  of  an  ancient  villa  built  by  Julius 
Caesar.  Here,  too,  if  you  trust  some  of  the  antiquaries, 
once  stood  the  temple  of  Diana  Nemorensis,1  where  human 
sacrifices  were  offered,  and  whose  chief-priest,  called  Rex 
Nemorensis,  obtained  his  office  by  slaying  his  predecessor, 
and  reigned  over  these  groves  by  force  of  his  personal 

1  The  better  opinion  of  late  seems  to  be  that  it  was  on  the  slopes 
of  the  Val  d'Arriccia.  Bi^  "  who  shall  decide,  when  doctors 
disagree  ?  " 


MAGGL  203 

arm.  Times. have,  indeed,  changed  since  the  priesthood 
was  thus  won  and  baptized  by  blood ;  and  as  you  stand 
there,  and  look,  on  the  one  side,  at  the  site  of  this  ancient 
temple,  which  some  of  the  gigantic  chestnut-trees  may 
almost  have  seen  in  their  youth,  and,  on  the  other  side,  at 
the  Campanile  of  the  Catholic  church  at  Genzano,  with  its 
flower-strewn  pavements,  you  may  have  as  sharp  a  con- 
trast between  the  past  and  the  present  as  can  easily  be 
found. 

Other  relics  of  the  ancient  Floralia  exist  also  in  various 
places,  and  particularly  among  the  mountains  of  Pistoia, 
where  the  people  celebrate  the  return  of  spring  on  the  first 
of  May,  and  sing  a  peculiar  song  in  honor  of  the  month  of 
flowers,  called  a  Maggio.  On  the  last  evening  of  April 
the  festivities  commence.  Bands  of  young  men  then 
gather  together,  and  with  singing  and  music  make  a  pro- 
cession through  the  villages  and  towns.  Some  carry  a 
leaf-stripped  tree,  adorned  with  flowers  and  lemons,  called 
the  Majo,  and  others  carry  baskets  filled  with  nosegays. 
These,  as  they  march  along,  they  distribute  to  the  matrons 
and  maids,  who  in  return  present  wine,  eggs,  and  a  kind 
of  jumble  cake,  called  JBerlingozzo,  cut  in  rings  and  dec- 
orated with  red  tassels.  Money  is  also  given,  all  of  which 
is  dedicated  to  masses  and  prayers  for  the  souls  in  pur- 
gatory. The  Maggl  they  sing  have  existed  so  long  that 
the  memory  of  man  runneth  not  to  the  contrary,  and  are 
as  follows :  — 

' '  Siam  venuti  a  salutare 

Questa  casa  di  valore, 

Che  s'  e  f  atta  sempre  onore  ; 
E  pero  vogliam  cantare  — 
Salutiam  prima  il  padrone, 

Poi  di  casa  la  sua  sposa  — 
Nol  sappiam  ch'  egli  6  in  Maremma  ; 

Dio  lo  sa,  e  ve  lo  mantenga  !  " 

And  also  this  other  :  — 

"  Or  e  di  maggio,  e  fiorito  &  il  limone  ; 
Noi  salutiamo  di  casa  il  padrone. 
Or  e  di  maggio,  e  gli  e  fiorito  i  rami ; 
Salutiam  le  ragazze  co'  suoi  dami. 
Or  e  di  maggio,  che  fiorito  e  i  fiori  ; 
Salutiam  le  ragazze  co'  suoi  amori." 


204  RODA  Df  ROMA. 

These  may  roughly  be  Englished  thus  :  — 

"  We  come  our  salute  to  bring 
To  this  brave  house  and  good, 
Whose  honor  unshaken  has  stood, 
And  therefore  we  come  to  sing : 
And  first  we  salute  the  master, 
And  then  his  excellent  wife  ; 
We  know  he's  in  the  Maremma  ; 
God  grant  them  a  good  long  life  !  " 

"  May  is  come,  and  the  lemon 's  in  bloom  ; 
Health  to  the  master  here  in  his  home  ! 
May  is  come,  and  the  branches  swell ; 
Health  to  the  girls,  and  their  lovers  as  well ! 
May  is  come,  and  the  flowers  are  in  blossom ; 
Health  to  the  girls,  with  love  in  their  bosom  !  " 

Sometimes  in  these  processions  of  the  Maggio  the  peas- 
ants, accompanied  by  oxen  gayly  decorated  with  branches 
of  olive,  silken  ribbons,  sheafs  of  grain,  and  silver  bells, 
went  through  the  fields,  singing  and  reciting  verses  to  in- 
voke good  luck  and  full  harvests ;  and  in  some  places  a 
band  of  women,  preceded  by  one  of  their  company  richly 
dressed,  and  called  La  Maggia,  made  the  tour  of  the 
town  or  village,  and  accepted  the  gifts  which  on  all  sides 
were  then  presented  in  honor  of  the  occasion  ;  or  men  and 
women  gayly  dressed,  and  accompanied  by  music,  visited 
the  palaces  of  the  nobility,  carrying  banners  with  their 
arms  embroidered  or  painted  on  them. 

Just  as  in  the  time  of  Athenaeus  ancient  Greek  lovers 
garlanded  the  doors  of  Grecian  maids,  so  peasant  lovers 
in  Italy  used,  on  the  first  of  May,  to  go  early  in  the 
morning  to  the  houses  of  their  sweethearts,  and  plant  be- 
fore the  door  a  branch  of  laburnum  or  olive,  or  flowering 
shrub,  and  sing  their  Maggi  ;  and  the  maidens  and  girls 
with  their  lovers  used  to  assemble  in  some  grove,  and 
dance  and  sing  together  on  this  festival.  One  of  these 
Maggi,  written  by  Angelo  Poliziano,  may  be  found  in  a 
collection  of  songs  by  him  and  Lorenzo  dei  Medici,  which 
is  very  pretty  and  graceful.  In  the  frontispiece  of  the 
edition  of  1568  there  is  an  engraving  representing  twelve 
damsels  in  a  ring,  holding  each  other's  hands  and  singing, 
while  beside  them  stands  La  Maggia  with  the  Mojo  in 
her  hand ;  and  near  her,  another  woman,  who  is  asking 
for  the  customary  veil.  The  Maggio  is  as  follows :  — 


MAGGIO  BY  POLIZIANO.  205 

Ben  venga  Maggio 

E  '1  gonfalon  selvaggio  ; 

Ben  venga  Primavera 

Che  ognun  par  che  innamori ; 

E  voi  Donzelle  a  schiera 

Con  vostri  amadori, 

Che  di  rose  e  di  fiori 

Ve  fate  belle  il  Maggio, 

Venite  alia  freseura 
Delli  verdi  arboscelli ; 
Ogni  bella  e  sicura 
Fra  tanti  damigelli  ; 
Che  le  fiere  e  gli  uceelli 
Ardon  d'  amore  il  Maggio. 

Chi  e  giovane,  chi  e  bella, 
Deh  !  non  sia  punto  acerba, 
Che  non  si  rinnovella 
L'  eta,  come  fa  1'  erba ; 
Nessuna  stia  superba 
All'  amadore  il  Maggio. 

Ciascuna  balli  e  canti 
Di  questa  schiera  nostra ; 
Ecco  e'  dodiei  amanti 
Che  per  voi  vanno  in  giostra ; 
Qual  dura  allor  si  mostra 
Fara  sfiorire  il  Maggio. 

Per  prender  le  donzelle 
Si  son  gli  amanti  armati ; 
Arrendetevi,  o  belle, 
A  vostri  innamorati ! 
Rendete  i  cuor  furati, 
Non  fate  guerra  il  Maggio. 

Chi  1'  altrui  core  invola, 
Ad  altri  doni  il  core  ! 
Ma  chi  e  quel  che  vola  ? 
E'  1'  angiolel  d'  amore 
Che  viene  a  far  onore 
Con  voi,  donzelle,  il  Maggio. 

Amor  ne  vien  ridendo, 
Con  rose  e  gigli  in  testa : 
E  vien  a  voi  caendo, 
Fategli,  o  belle,  f esta ; 
Qual  sara  la  pin  presta 
A  dargli  il  fior  di  Maggio  ? 


206  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

Ben  venga  il  peregrine ! 
Amor  che  ne  command!  ? 
Che  al  suo  amante  il  crino 
Ogni  bella  ingrillandi, 
Che  le  zittelle  e  i  grand! 
S'  innamoran  di  Maggio. 


Welcome,  May,  and  welcome,  Spring, 
With  your  gonfalons  of  green, 
Waking  love  in  everything 
Where  your  festive  shapes  are  seen. 
Maidens,  here  your  lovers  bring, 
And  with  flowers  and  roses  gay, 
Come,  adorn  yourselves  for  May. 

Come  into  the  cool  green  shade, 
To  the  leafy  grove  repair  ; 
No  one  need  be  here  afraid, 
'Mid  so  many  maidens  fair. 
Beasts  on  earth,  and  birds  in  air, 
All  are  filled  with  love  by  May. 

Who  is  young,  and  who  is  fair, 
Let  her  not  be  harsh  and  sour ; 
Youth,  once  vanished  from  us,  ne'er 
Blooms  again  as  blooms  a  flower: 
And  let  no  one  at  this  hour 
Nourish  a  hard  heart  in  May. 

Come,  —  let  all  our  little  band 
Join  in  festive  song  and  dance ; 
Here  a  dozen  lovers  stand, 
Who  for  you  would  break  a  lance. 
And  let  none  with  sneers  or  taunts 
Spoil  for  us  our  merry  May. 

Here,  all  around  you,  lovers  stand, 
Ready  each  his  maid  to  take ; 
Come,  surrender  heart  and  hand, 
Yield  to  them  for  love's  sweet  sake. 
Since  your  hearts  they've  stolen,  make 
No  defensive  war  in  May. 

Who  has  filched  another's  heart, 
Let  her  give  to  him  her  own ; 
So  to  steal,  who  has  the  art, 
But  the  angel  Love  alone  ? 
Love,  oh  damsels,  be  it  known, 
Comes  with  you  to  honor  May. 


GAFFES  AND   THEATRES.  207 

Love,  who  smiling1  comes  and  wears 

Roses,  lilies,  on  his  brow. 

Here  in  search  of  you  repairs ; 

Unto  him  all  honor  show. 

Who  '11  be  first  to  give  him  now, 

Gentle  maids,  the  flower  of  May  ? 

Welcome,  Love,  oh,  pilgrim  dear, 
Say  what  sweet  command  is  thine  ?  — 
Let  each  maiden  round  the  hair 
Of  her  love  a  garland  twine  ; 
Young  and  old,  oh,  maidens  mine, 
Love  each  other  all  in  May.1 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

GAFFES   AND  THEATRES. 

ITALIANS  are  a  co^f  e-frequenting  and  a  theatre-going 
people.  No  city  is  so  small  that  it  has  not  its  theatre,  and 
no  town  so  insignificant  as  to  be  without  its  caffe.  As 
the  lion  has  its  jackal,  the  shark  its  pilot-fish,  the  crab  its 

1  These  Maggi  are  still  represented  in  some  of  the  country  towns 
and  villages  in  Tuscany,  though  they  seem  to  differ  in  some  respects 
from  those  of  an  earlier  period.  As  I  am  writing  (July,  188(5)  I  re- 
ceive a  letter  from  my  daughter  who  has  just  been  present  at  one  at 
Pietra  Santa,  a  little  sea-coast  village  near  Serravezza.  "  I  went  to 
the  Maggio,"  she  says,  "in  the  Piazza,  the  other  day,  and  it  re- 
minded me  of  old  times.  The  men  were  all  dressed  in  papier-ma- 
che" helmets  and  wore  Roman  togas,  while  the  women  were  all  in  the 
modern  costume.  It  represented  a  tragical  and  historical  scene  of 
ancient  days,  and  was  chanted  in  recitative,  the  music  being  nearly 
all  on  one  note,  and  the  orchestra  consisting  of  one  cracked  fiddle ; 
no  money  was  asked  or  received.  There  was  no  stage,  no  scenery, 
and  not  even  a  boarding  or  rope  to  keep  back  the  crowd  ;  a  simple 
line  was  drawn  on  the  dust  as  the  limit  over  which  no  one  was  to 
pass,  and  no  one  overstept  it.  Two  white  poles  marked  the  places 
of  exit  and  entrance  for  the  actors,  and  as  each  finished  his  part  he 
retired  through  them  out  of  the  circle  and  hovered  about  until  the 
cue  came  for  his  re-entrance.  All  the  female  parts  were  performed 
by  men,  who  did  not  take  the  trouble  even  to  disguise  this  fact  by 
shaving  off  their  moustaches.  The  audience  listened  in  breathless 
silence,  never  turning  their  eyes  from  the  actors,  though  the  play 
lasted  for  four  hours." 


208  ROBA  Dl   ROMA. 

pinna,  so  the  theatre  is  sure  to  have  its  one  caffe  at  least 
stuck  to  it  and  living  upon  it.  The  caffe  is  the  social  ex- 
change of  the  country  towns.  There  every  evening  may 
he  seen  groups  of  the  middle  classes  gathered  about  little 
marble-topped  tables,  interchanging  small  talk  in  loud 
voices,  playing  dominos,  smoking,  sipping  coffee  or  bibite, 
and  spelling  out  the  little  miserable  sheets  which  are  the 
apologies  of  the  government  for  newspapers,  and  which 
contain  nothing  you  wish  to  know  and  much  you  wish  not 
to  know.  The  waiters  are  always  crying  out,  "  Venyo, 
vengo,  subito"  and  thrusting  with  a  clash  metal  trays, 
covered  with  cups  and  glasses,  on  to  marble  tables.  The 
visitors  are  as  constantly  crying  out  for  the  '•  bottega  "  (for 
so  the  waiter  is  euphuistically  called),  and  rapping  on  the 
tinkling  glasses  to  attract  his  attention.  In  Rome  the 
number  of  caffes  is  legion ;  no  street  is  without  them  ; 
and  each  of  these  has  its  special  class  of  regular  cus- 
tomers. There  is  the  Caffe  dei  Scacrhi,  where  chess- 
players go  and  discuss  this  game  theoretically  and  practi- 
cally ;  the  Caffe  of  the  Liberali,  who  show  their  liberal 
views  principally  by  going  there,  and  speaking  sotto  voce  ; 
the  Caffe  of  the  Codini,  where  queues  and  tricornered 
black  hats  gather,  and  speak  in  louder  and  more  assured 
tones  ;  the  Caffe  Nazzari,  where  strangers  meet  and  pay  a 
third  more  than  is  paid  elsewhere,  simply  because  they  are 
strangers ;  and  the  Caffe  Greco,  where  artists  meet  and 
discuss  subjects  of  art,  pictures,  and  statues,  read  the 
French  newspapers  and  Galignani,  and  fill  the  air  of  the 
crowded  little  room  with  tobacco  smoke.  There  you  may 
see  every  night  representatives  of  art  from  all  parts  of  the 
world,  in  all  kinds  of  hats,  from  the  conical  black  felt, 
with  its  velvet  ribbon,  to  the  stiff  French  stovepipe ;  and 
in  every  variety  of  coat,  from  the  Polish  and  German 
nondescript,  all  bef  rogged  and  tagged,  to  the  shabby  Amer- 
ican dress-coat,  with  crumpled  tails  ;  and  with  every  cut  of 
hair  and  beard,  from  that  of  Peter  the  Hermit,  unkempt 
and  uncut,  to  the  moustache  and  pointed  beard  of  Anthony 
Vandyck.  Peeping  in  there,  one  is  sometimes  tempted 
to  consider  philosophically  what  innate  connection  there  is 
between  genius  for  art,  and  long  uncombed  hair  and  un~ 


GAFFES  AND  THEATRES.  209 

tidy  beards.  This  question  I  have  never  answered  satis- 
factorily to  myself,  and  I  recommend  the  subject  to  some 
German  friend,  who  will  go  to  the  root  of  the  matter. 

The  caffe  and  theatre  are  to  the  mass  of  Italians  of  the 
present  day  what  the  logge  were  to  their  ancestors  in  the 
great  days  of  Tuscany.  In  the  public  logge  the  people 
met  and  discussed  their  affairs  as  on  a  social  or  political 
exchange.  But  times  have  changed,  and  the  caffe  has 
usurped  the  place  of  those  magnificent  old  logge,  which 
still  form  so  striking  a  feature  of  many  of  the  Italian 
cities.  The  people  who  thronged  under  the  noble  arches 
of  Orgagna's  "  Loggia  dei  Lanzi,"  at  Florence,  now  meet 
at  Doney's,  and  have  surrendered  the  place  to  the  Perseus 
of  Cellini,  the  Rape  of  the  Sabines,  by  Giovanni  di  Bo- 
logna, and  other  aged  companions  in  marble  and  bronze. 
So,  too,  at  Siena,  opposite  to  the  "  Casino  Nobile,"  whose 
loggia,  rich  with  carving  and  statues,  forms  one  of  the 
most  imposing  features  of  that  curious  mediaeval  city, 
stands  the  Caffe  Greco  of  to-day,  and  disputes  precedence 
with  it  successfully. 

In  like  manner,  the  box  at  the  theatre  has  taken  the 
place  of  the  private  loggia,  which  was  once  attached  to 
every  noble's  palace,  and  beneath  whose  shade  the  Sig- 
noria  received  their  friends  in  summer  and  transacted 
their  business.  Some  of  these  logge  were  celebrated  for 
these  social  amusements  and  for  the  sharpness  of  their 
epigrams,  scandal,  and  satire.  At  some,  gambling  was 
carried  on  to  such  excess  that  the  government  at  last  was 
forced  to  interfere,  and  prohibit  the  practice.  Others, 
again,  as  the  "  Loggia  degli  Agolanti,"  achieved  a  reputa- 
tion for  match-making,  so  that  it  was  said  of  it,  "  Si  potea 
star  sicuro  di  non  far  casaccia  fi,"  — one  may  be  sure  of 
not  making  a  bad  match  there.  Such  was  the  number  of 
happy  marriages  there  arranged,  that  the  site  of  the  house 
received  at  last  the  name  of  the  "  Canto  del  Parentado  " 
—  the  marriage  corner.  At  the  "  Loggia  dei  Rucellai," 
on  the  contrary,  the  leading  spirits  of  the  age  met  to  dis- 
cuss questions  of  politics  and  philosophy.  There,  too, 
were  hatched  dangerous  plots  against  the  State.  The 
master-mind  of  all  who  frequented  the  gardens  and 
14 


210  ROBA   DI  ROMA. 

Loggia  del  Rucellai  was  Nicolo  Macchiavelli,  who  in  the 
shadow  of  his  own  private  convictions,  unknown  then  as 
now,  discussed  in  the  coterie  there  assembled  the  principles 
which  have  given  so  sinister  a  character  to  his  name. 
Here  also  might  be  seen  Jacopo  Pitti,  the  senator,  and  au- 
thor of  the  "  Istoria  Fiorentina,"  together  with  his  fellow- 
historian  and  senator,  Filippo  de'  Nerli,  to  whom  Macchi- 
avelli dedicated  his  lines  on  Opportunity,  and  to  whose 
family  Dante  alludes  in  these  lines  :  — 

"  E  vidi  quel  de'  Nerli  e  quel  del  Vecchio 
Esser  content!  alia  pella  scoverta, 
E  le  sue  donne  al  fuso  ed  al  pennecchio." 

These  gardens  still  exist  under  the  name  of  the  Orti  Or- 
cellari,  though  the  voices  of  the  past  are  heard  there  no 
more.  And  should  any  wandering  ghost  by  chance  revisit 
his  old  haunts,  he  would  surely  be  scared  away  by  the 
shrill  whistle  of  the  locomotive  as  it  rattles  through  them 
on  its  way  from  Florence  to  Pistoia. 

But  if  those  famous  assemblies  no  longer  meet  at  the 
logge  to  talk  scandal,  make  visits,  arrange  matches,  and 
discuss  politics,  modern  society  in  Rome  meets  for  similar 
purposes  in  the  loge  of  the  theatre.  And  here  the  various 
classes  are  distinguished  and  separated  by  different  thea- 
tres as  well  as  different  tiers  in  the  same  theatre.  To  the 
Italians,  not  only  "all  the  world 's  a  stage,"  but  every  stage 
is  a  world.  For  high  and  low,  rich  and  poor,  prince  and 
peasant,  there  is  a  theatre ;  and  no  one  need  deprive  him- 
self of  this  amusement  so  long  as  he  has  two  baiocchi  in  his 
pocket.  Firjst  comes  the  Apollo,  or  Tor  di  Nona  Theatre, 
which  is  exclusively  devoted  to  the  opera  and  the  masked 
balls  of  Carnival ;  then  follow  the  Valle  and  Costanzi, 
where  prose  and  music  alternate,  and  the  drama  is  played 
by  an  excellent  company ;  the  Argentina  and  Quirino,  which 
are  a  degree  lower,  and  dedicated  to  comedy,  farce,  and 
second-rate  opera  ;  the  Capranica,  where  melodrama  raves 
and  jugglery  throws  its  highest  balls  ;  and  the  little  Metas- 
tasio,  where  tragedy  and  comedy  are  performed ;  some- 
times by  a  French  and  sometimes  by  an  Italian  company. 
Besides  these,  there  are  theatres  of  a  lower  grade  for  the 
people  :  the  Vallino,  where  one  can  see  tolerable  acting, 


THEATRES.  211 

in  a  small  but  clean  house,  for  five  baiocchi,  and  where 
actors  make  their  debut  in  Rome,  and  train  for  the  higher 
boards ;  the  Emiliano  in  the  Piazza  Navona,  where  pup- 
pets perform  ;  and  last,  and  lowest  of  all,  the  Fico,  which 
is  frequented  solely  by  the  lowest  classes. 

The  prices  of  a  seat  vary  very  much,  and  depend  not 
only  on  the  theatre  but  on  the  season.  The  amusement 
is,  however,  cheap  ;  —  even  at  the  largest  and  most  fashion- 
able, a  numbered  seat  in  the  pit  only  costs  three  pawls 
(thirty  cents),  and  a  box,  holding  four  or  five  persons 
comfortably,  may  be  ordinarily  obtained  for  two  or  three 
scudi  the  night,  or  for  from  fifty  to  sixty  scudi  the  season. 
The  boxes  in  all  the  theatres  are  completely  separated 
from  each  other  by  partitions  from  floor  to  ceiling,  and 
must  be  taken  entire,  no  single  seats  being  sold  in  them, 
as  in  the  French  and  American  theatres,  where  the  tiers 
are  open. 

The  Apollo,  or,  as  it  is  commonly  called,  the  Tor  di 
Nona,  is  the  most  fashionable  theatre  in  Rome,  and  here 
alone,  of  all  the  Roman  theatres,  full  dress  is  required. 
The  second  tier  of  boxes,  called  the  ordlne  nobile,  is  occu- 
pied exclusively  by  the  nobility,  ambassadors,  and  min- 
isters, who  have  the  right  of  choice,  according  to  their 
rank  and  precedency  of  title  and  appointment.  The  dis- 
tribution of  boxes  among  them  is,  it  may  well  be  imagined, 
anything  but  easy,  and  the  impresario  is  often  put  to  his 
wits'  end  to  satisfy  the  demands  of  all.  As  the  practice  is 
not  to  vary  the  opera  every  evening,  but  to  give  only  a 
fixed  number  of  operas  during  the  season,  and  to  repeat  the 
same  for  many  consecutive  nights,  a  box  every  night  is  not 
generally  desired  by  any  one,  and  it  is  the  custom  to  take 
only  a  half  or  quarter  box.  By  this  is  intended,  however, 
not  a  portion  of  the  box  every  night,  but  a  whole  box  for 
one  or  two  nights  out  of  every  four.  By  this  arrangement, 
quarter  boxes  may  be  taken  at  several  theatres  for  the  same 
price  that  a  whole  box  would  cost  at  one,  and  the  amuse- 
ment is  in  this  way  varied.  The  first  and  third  nights  are 
generally  taken  by  the  nobility,  and  for  these  there  is  a 
great  struggle  among  those  who  are  not  originally  entitled 
to  them,  great  diplomacy  being  used  to  obtain  them,  and 
heart-burnings  often  following  want  of  success. 


212  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

Not  only  the  ordine  nobile  is  abonne  for  the  season,  but 
also  the  principal  boxes  in  the  other  tiers,  and  many  of 
the  seats  in  the  pit.  When  the  company  is  good,  and  the 
operas  promised  are  favorites,  the  best  boxes  and  seats 
are  all  taken  before  the  season  commences.  The  abonnes 
of  the  pit  are  young  men  about  town  —  artists,  shopkeep- 
ers, and  generally  any  single  person,  from  the  guardia 
nobile  to  the  barber.  No  lady  sits  in  the  pit  or  parquet, 
and  if  one  be  seen  there  she  is  at  once  recognized  as  a 
stranger,  not  aware  of  the  etiquette  of  a  Roman  theatre. 
She  will,  however,  be  always  treated  with  courtesy,  and  will 
never  imagine  from  the  bearing  of  the  people  towards  her 
that  she  is  out  of  place.  Women  of  the  lower  classes  in 
Rome  are  constantly  seen  there.  The  great  mass,  how- 
ever, are  men  who,  in  the  intervals  between  the  acts,  are 
levelling  with  white-gloved  hands  the  opera-glasses  they 
have  hired  at  the  door  at  all  the  boxes  from  floor  to  ceil- 
ing. During  the  performance  they  have  a  vile  custom  of 
humming  audibly  the  airs  which  are  sung  on  the  stage, 
keeping  about  a  note  ahead  of  the  singer  as  if  they  were 
prompting,  but  this  does  not  seem  to  annoy  their  neigh- 
bors, unless  the  latter  happen  to  be  strangers  or  accidental 
visitors.  The  seats  here  are  narrow,  hard,  uncushioned, 
and  by  no  means  comfortable ;  but  the  Italians  neither 
complain  of  this,  nor  of  the  terrible  smoke  of  oil-lamps, 
which  have  not  yet  given  way  to  gas  in  some  of  the  the- 
atres.1 There  is  this  odd  peculiarity  among  Italians,  that 
though  they  are  not  sensitive  to  bad  odors,  such  as  the 
smoke  of  an  oil-lamp,  the  hot,  thick,  human  odor  of  a 
crowd,  or  the  reek  of  garlic,  yet  they  have  a  general  dis- 
like to  what  we  call  "  perfumes,"  which  they  rarely  use, 
and  are  fastidious  even  about  the  scent  of  flowers,  which 
they  consider  to  be  neither  agreeable  nor  wholesome  in  a 
close  room.  If  you  have  foolishly  (for  the  Italians  are 
right  in  this)  placed  a  bouquet  of  flowers  in  your  sleeping- 
room,  it  is  nine  chances  to  one  that  your  chambermaid 
will  throw  it  at  once  out  of  the  window,  without  even  con- 
sulting you. 

1  Gas  has  now  taken  the  place  of  oil-lamps  in  all  the  principal 
theatres. 


THEATRES.  213 

It  is  not  ordinarily  difficult  to  procure  a  box  for  a  night 
at  any  of  the  theatres,  unless  there  be  some  very  unusual 
attraction,  for  whenever  the  owners  of  boxes  have  other 
engagements  for  the  evening,  as  it  happens  to  a  certain 
number  nightly,  they  send  the  key  of  their  box  to  the  of- 
fice to  be  sold  on  their  account ;  and,  on  even  a  night  of 
special  interest,  the  houses  are  so  large  that  it  is  rare  to 
find  all  the  boxes  on  the  second  and  third  tiers  occupied. 

The  boxes  are  ill-furnished,  with  common  straw-bot- 
tomed chairs  without  arms,  sometimes  a  mirror,  and  gener- 
ally a  velvet  cushion  in  front  on  which  to  rest  the  elbow 
or  arm  or  to  place  the  opera-glass ;  no  carpets  are  on  the 
brick  floors,  which  in  the  winter  season  numb  one's  feet 
with  cold.  One  of  the  servants  of  the  theatre,  however, 
always  comes  to  the  box  to  offer  footstools,  for  the  use  of 
which  he  asks  a  few  baiocchi.  But  comfort  is  not  an 
Italian  word,  nor  an  Italian  thing ;  and  if  you  are  dissatis- 
fied, and  begin  to  grumble  at  the  desolate  and  cold  boxes, 
and  contrast  it  with  the  cushioned  and  carpeted  ones  at 
home,  please  to  pause  and  count  the  cost  of  that  comfort, 
and  remember  that  here  you  pay  three  sixpences  and  there 
a  guinea  to  hear  the  same  singers.  I  was  never  so  struck 
by  this  as  once  on  coming  from  Italy  into  France.  I  had 
just  been  hearing  the  "Trovatore"  sung  by  the  troupe, 
in  which  were  Beaucarde,  Penco,  and  Goggi,  for  whom  it 
was  written  ;  and  when  the  season  came  on  in  Paris  nearly 
the  same  company  were  advertised  to  sing  the  same  opera 
there.  I  was  inclined  to  hear  them  again,  but  after  hav- 
ing heard  them  six  months  before  for  three  pauls,  I  ex- 
perienced a  decided  sense  of  unwillingness  to  pay  ten 
francs  for  identically  the  same  singing,  merely  because 
my  seat  was  an  arm-chair  well  padded  and  covered  with 
velvet.  So,  too,  after  for  years  purchasing  the  privilege  of 
listening  to  Ristori  and  Salvini  for  two  pauls  and  a  half, 
or  a  shilling  English,  I  rebelled  in  London  against  paying 
half  a  guinea  for  the  same  thing  ;  the  chair  in  this  case  be- 
ing scarcely  more  comfortable,  and  the  house  much  more 
close  and  stuffy. 

Once  in  Florence,  being  at  a  loss  how  to  amuse  myself 
for  the  evening,  I  determined  to  go  to  one  of  the  little 


214  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

theatres,  where  I  had  heard  that  there  was  a  good  tenor 
singer  and  hy  no  means  a  bad  company.  I  found  cer- 
tainly no  luxury  there  ;  the  scenery  was  bad,  the  orches- 
tra meagre  ;  but  I  heard  Beaucarde  sing  in  the  "  Sonnam- 
bula,"  and  paid  a  half-paul  for  the  entertainment.  A  cup 
of  coffee  and  a  roll  at  Doney's  and  a  cigar  after  that  fin- 
ished my  evening,  which  I  had  particularly  enjoyed,  and 
on  counting  up  the  cost,  I  found  I  had  only  expended  a 
paul  for  both  opera  and  supper.  I  think  I  never  had  so 
much  for  so  little  money. 

With  the  French,  English,  and  Americans,  the  opera  is 
an  exotic,  for  which  one  must  pay  dearly.  In  Italy  it  is 
common  as  oil  and  wine,  and  nearly  as  cheap.  The  dis- 
comfort naturally  goes  with  the  cheapness,  but  is  amply 
compensated  for  by  it.  The  scale  of  everything  connected 
with  its  expenses  is  low  :  the  actors  and  singers  have 
small  salaries,  the  orchestra  get  a  few  pauls  apiece,  and 
nobody  makes  a  fortune  out  of  it ;  but  the  people  have 
a  cheap  amusement,  and  this  is  an  enormous  gain. 

All  the  world  goes  to  the  theatre  ;  it  is  an  amusement 
which  never  tires  the  Italians,  and  despite  the  heats  of 
summer  and  the  cold  of  winter,  the  boxes  and  pit  are  al- 
ways well  filled.  Nothing  short  of  a  revolution  would 
empty  them.  Once,  however,  during  the  year  1848,  being 
at  Naples,  I  agreed  with  a  friend  to  pass  the  evening  at 
the  San  Carlino,  celebrated  for  its  humorous  and  admira- 
ble acting.  On  our  arrival  at  the  door  we  found  a  crowd 
gathered  in  the  piazza  talking  excitedly  together  and 
evidently  in  agitated  expectation  of  something.  On  in- 
quiry, we  found  there  had  been  an  outbreak  among  the 
lazzaroni  during  the  afternoon ;  and  though  it  was  at  once 
suppressed,  there  was  some  fear  lest  another  disturbance 
might  arise,  and  the  troops  again  fire  on  the  people,  as 
they  had  done  only  a  week  before.  The  orchestra,  actors, 
and  all  the  supernumeraries  were  collected  in  the  piazza 
and  around  the  door ;  and  we  said  to  each  other,  "  There 
will  be  no  representation  to-night,  of  course."  Our  doubts 
were,  however,  speedily  dispelled  by  the  ticket-seller,  who 
answered  our  inquiries  as  to  whether  there  was  to  be  a 
performance  by  a  "  Sicuro,  sicuro  ;  favorisca.  Che  posto 


THEATRES.  215 

vuole  f  "  (Certainly,  certainly  ;  be  kind  enough  to  come 
in.  What  seats  ?)  So  we  purchased  our  tickets  and  went 
in.  The  theatre  was  quite  dark,  only  one  or  two  tallow- 
candles  burning  on  the  stage  and  in  the  orchestra  seats. 
Not  a  human  being  was  to  be  seen.  We  looked  at  our 
watches  ;  the  time  for  the  commencement  of  the  play  had 
passed  ;  and,  after  waiting  five  minutes,  we  determined 
that  there  would  be  no  performance,  and  sallied  forth  to 
retake  our  money  and  surrender  our  tickets  at  the  door. 
The  ticket-holder,  however,  strenuously  insisted  that  the 
performance  was  to  take  place.  "Non  dubitino,  Signori. 
Si  fara,  si  fara.  Favor iscano."  (Do  not  doubt.  There 
will  certainly  be  a  performance.  Please  walk  in.)  Then 
with  a  loud  shriek  he  sent  his  voice  into  the  piazza  to  sum- 
mon the  director  and  the  actors,  who,  with  unwilling  steps, 
came  up  to  the  door,  shrugged  their  shoulders,  and  said, 
"  Eh  !  "  But  the  director  bowed  in  the  politest  manner 
to  us,  assuring  us  that  there  would  be  a  performance,  and 
favoriscad  us  back  into  our  seats.  It  was  as  black  as 
ever.  In  a  few  minutes,  however,  the  curtain  dropped  ;  one 
lamp  after  another  was  lighted ;  the  orchestra  straggled 
in,  urged  forward  by  some  one  in  authority,  who  bustled 
about  and  ordered  right  and  left.  In  about  ten  minutes 
matters  were  completely  arranged  ;  the  orchestra  took  their 
seats  and  began  to  play.  We  looked  round  the  theatre 
and  found  that  we  constituted  the  entire  audience.  At 
first  we  felt  rather  awkward,  but  expected  every  moment 
to  see  the  seats  fill.  No  one,  however,  came  in.  At  last 
up  went  the  curtain,  and  the  play  began  to  us  as  regularly 
as  if  the  theatre  were  thronged.  Vainly  we  protested ; 
the  actors  enjoyed  the  joke,  played  their  best,  and  made 
low  bows  in  recognition  of  the  plaudits  which  the  whole 
audience,  consisting  of  Nero  and  myself,  freely  bestowed 
upon  them.  Never  did  I  see  better  acting.  Nor  did  the 
joke  wear  out.  The  curtain  fell  after  the  first  act,  and  we 
were  still  alone.  We  made  a  renewed  protest,  which  had 
no  effect,  save  that  a  couple  of  boys,  probably  engaged 
behind  the  scenes,  were  sent  into  the  pit ;  and  thus  the 
whole  play  was  performed.  When  the  curtain  finally 
dropped  there  were  only  about  fifteen  persons  in  the  house, 


216  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

and  they,  as  far  as  we  could  judge,  belonged  to  the  theatre, 
and  came  in  to  enjoy  the  joke.  I  doubt  whether  a  com- 
plete performance  ever  was  given  before  or  after  at  any 
theatre  to  an  audience  consisting  of  two  persons  for  the 
sum  of  one  piastre;  nor  do  I  believe  that  even  at  San 
Carlino,  renowned  as  it  is,  more  humorous  and  spirited 
acting  was  ever  seen. 

At  the  first  night  of  the  season  at  the  opera  it  is  a 
point  of  etiquette  for  all  the  proprietors  of  the  boxes  to  be 
present ;  and  a  brilliant  spectacle  it  is,  the  house  being 
uniformly  crowded,  and  every  one  in  an  elegant  toilette. 
On  this  occasion  the  impresario  sends  ices  and  refresh- 
ments to  all  the  boxes. 

Instead  of  receiving  at  home,  the  Romans  generally 
receive  in  their  loge  at  the  opera.  Each  family  of  the 
upper  class  takes  a  box,  and  as  only  two  or  three  of  the 
chairs  are  occupied,  there  is  ample  accommodation  for 
visitors.  No  entrance  fee  is  required  except  for  the  pit, 
and  no  expense  is  therefore  incurred  in  making  a  visit 
from  the  outside.  A  large  collection  of  friends  and  ac- 
quaintances is  always  to  be  found  in  the  theatre,  and 
these  lounge  about  from  one  box  to  another  to  pay  visits 
and  to  laugh  and  chat  together,  not  only  between  the  acts, 
but  during  the  performance.  Every  palco  is  in  itself  a 
private  conversazione,  the  members  of  which  are  con- 
stantly changing.  Each  new  visitor  takes  a  place  beside 
the  lady,  and  yields  it  in  turn  to  the  next  comer.  Often 
there  are  five  or  six  visitors  all  animatedly  talking  to- 
gether, and  amusing  themselves  in  a  most  informal  way 
—  the  music  all  the  while  being  quite  disregarded  and 
serving  merely  as  an  accompaniment.  The  same  attention 
to  the  opera  itself  cannot  of  course  be  expected  from 
those  who  have  heard  it  night  after  night  as  would  be 
given  were  it  fresh  and  new.  The  inferior  portions  are 
therefore  seldom  listened  to  ;  but  when  the  prima  donna, 
tenor  e,  or  basso,  advances  to  sing  a  favorite  air,  scena,  or 
concerted  piece,  all  is  hushed  to  attention.  The  husband 
is  rarely  to  be  seen  in  his  box  when  other  visitors  are 
there  — taking  then  the  opportunity  to  slip  out  and  make 
his  round  of  visits. 


PANTOMIMES.  217 

The  body  of  the  house  is  illuminated  solely  by  a  chan- 
delier, the  chief  .light  being  concentrated  on  the  stage. 
The  interior  of  the  box  is  consequently  so  dark  that  one 
may  shrink  back  into  it,  so  as  to  be  entirely  concealed 
from  view,  and  take  coffee  or  ices  (furnished  from  the 
caffe  close  by),  or  press  his  mistress's  hand,  and  whisper 
love  into  her  ear,  u  untalked  of  and  unseen."  Connected 
with  the  private  box  of  Prince  Torlonia  is  an  interior  one, 
handsomely  furnished,  where  friends  may  lounge  and 
chat  at  their  ease  and  take  refreshments.  All  the  other 
boxes  are  single. 

Much  as  the  Italians  like  the  opera,  they  like  the  bal- 
let still  more.  This  is  often  interpolated  between  the  acts 
of  the  opera,  so  that  they  who  do  not  wish  to  stay  to  a 
late  hour  may  enjoy  it.  The  moment  the  curtain  draws 
up  and  the  ballet  commences,  all  is  attention  ;  talking 
ceases,  lorgnettes  are  levelled  everywhere  at  the  stage, 
and  the  delight  with  which  the  mimi  and  the  dancers  are 
watched  is  almost  childish.  The  Italian  ballet-dancers  are 
generally  heavy  and  handsome  ;  and,  though  they  want 
lightness  of  movement  and  elegance  of  limb,  they  make 
up  for  it  by  the  beauty  of  their  faces  and  busts.  This 
heaviness  of  make  is,  however,  peculiar  to  the  Romans. 
In  the  north  they  are  slenderer  and  lighter.  As  Italy 
gives  the  world  the  greatest  singers,  so  it  supplies  it  with 
the  most  fascinating  dancers.  Ferraris,  Carlotta,  Grisi, 
Kosati,  Cerito,  and  Fuoco,  are  all  Italian. 

They  are  even  more  remarkable  as  pantomimic  actors, 
or  mimi  as  they  are  called  here.  The  language  of  signs 
and  gestures  comes  to  them  like  Dogberry's  reading  and 
writing  —  by  nature.  What  the  northern  nations  put 
into  words,  the  Italians  express  by  gestures.  Their  shrugs 
contain  a  history  ;  their  action  is  a  current  commentary 
and  explanation  of  their  speech.  Oftentimes  they  carry 
on  conversations  purely  in  pantomime,  and  it  is  as  neces- 
sary for  a  stranger  to  learn  some  of  their  signs  as  to  study 
his  dictionary  and  grammar.  The  lazzaroni  at  Naples 
cheat  you  before  your  face  in  the  simplest  way  by  this 
language  of  signs,  and,  passing  each  other  in  their  cales- 
sino,  they  have  made  an  agreement  to  meet,  informed 


218  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

each  other  where  they  are  going,  what  their  fare  pays, 
given  a  general  report  of  their  family,  and  executed  a 
commission,  by  a  few  rapid  gestures.  No  Italian  ever 
states  a  number  without  using  his  fingers,  or  refuses  a 
beggar  without  an  unmistakable  movement  of  the  hand. 
This  natural  facility  in  pantomime  is  strikingly  shown  at 
the  institution  in  Rome  for  the  education  of  the  deaf  and 
dumb.  Comparatively  little  is  done  by  the  tedious  pro- 
cess of  spelling ;  but  a  whole  vocabulary  of  gestures,  sim- 
ple, intelligible,  and  defined,  serves  these  mutes  as  a 
short-hand  language.  The  rapidity  with  which  they  talk, 
and  the  ready  intelligence  they  show  in  their  conversation, 
are  surprising.  Their  communications  are  often  more 
rapid  than  speech,  and  it  is  seldom  that  they  are  driven 
to  the  necessity  of  spelling.  The  head  of  this  establish- 
ment, who  is  a  priest,  has  devoted  himself  with  much 
zeal  and  skill  to  the  education  of  these  poor  unfortunates, 
and  they  seem  greatly  to  have  profited  by  his  instruction. 
But  what  struck  me  more  than  anything  else  was  the 
simple  and  ingenious  system  of  pantomimic  conversation 
adopted,  and,  I  believe,  invented  by  him. 

The  mimetic  performances  on  the  Italian  stage  are  re- 
markable. The  mimi  seem  generally  to  prefer  tragedy 
or  melodrama,  and  certainly  they  "  tear  a  passion  to 
rags  "  as  none  but  Italians  could.  Nothing  to  them  is 
impossible.  Grief,  love,  madness,  jealousy,  and  anger, 
convulse  them  by  turns.  Their  hands  seem  wildly  to 
grasp  after  expression  ;  their  bodies  are  convulsed  with 
emotion  ;  their  fingers  send  off  electric  flashes  of  indigna- 
tion ;  their  faces  undergo  violent  contortions  of  passion ; 
every  nerve  and  muscle  becomes  language ;  they  talk  all 
over,  from  head  to  foot :  — 

' '  Clausis  faucibus,  eloquent!  gestu, 
Nutu,  crure,  genu,  maim,  rotatu." 

In  this  love  of  pantomimic  acting,  the  modern  Italians 
are  the  blood  descendants  of  their  Roman  ancestors. 
The  ancient  pantomimists  were  both  dancers  and  mimics. 
Generally,  though  not  always,  they  performed  to  music, 
expressing  by  gestures  alone  their  meaning ;  and  from 


ORIGIN  OF  PANTOMIMES.  219 

their  universal  and  perfect  representation  of  everything 
they  received  their  name  of  PantomimL1 

Their  art,  though  of  very  ancient  origin,  attained  its 
perfection  in  the  age  of  Augustus,  and  this  emperor,  out 
of  regard  to  "  Maecenas  atavis  edite  regibus,"  who  was 
a  great  admirer  of  a  celebrated  pantomimist  named 
Bathyllus,  often  honored  his  performances  by  his  impe- 
rial presence,  and  thus  gave  great  vogue  to  this  entertain- 
ment. It  is  indeed  contended  by  some  writers  that  these 
pantomimic  dances  were  invented  by  Pylades  and  Bathyl- 
lus in  the  reign  of  Augustus,  there  being  no  anterior 
record  of  them  discoverable.  But  this  is  at  least  doubtful.2 
Sometimes  a  single  actor  performed  all  the  characters,  as 
it  would  seem  from  the  account  given  by  Lucian  of  a 
skilful  pantomimist  in  the  time  of  Nero,  who,  to  per- 
suade a  Cynical  philosopher  averse  to  these  performances, 
showed  such  skill  in  his  representation  as  to  elicit  from 
the  Cynic  the  declaration,  that  "  he  seemed  to  see  the 
thing  itself,  and  not  an  imitation  of  it,  and  that  the  man 
spoke  with  his  body  and  hands." 

The  people  were  mad  for  this  entertainment,  and  often 
fell  in  love  with  the  actors,  and  after  the  performance  was 
over  fell  upon  their  necks,  and  not  only  kissed  them,  but 
also  their  thyrsi  and  dresses.  Galen  relates  a  story  of  a 
female  patient  whose  sole  disease  was  a  violent  passion  for 
the  pantomimist  Pylades,  conceived  only  through  seeing 
him  act.  The  public  favor  for  these  actors  was  partici- 
pated in  by  the  court  to  such  an  extent,  that  when  the 
Emperor  Constantius  drove  out  of  the  city  all  the  phi- 
losophers on  account  of  the  dearness  of  the  "  annonce,"  he 
allowed  three  thousand  dancers  and  as  many  pantomimists 
to  remain — at  which  Ammianus  Marcellinus  cannot  restrain 
his  indignation.  The  prices  paid  them  were  enormous, 
and  Seneca  was  greatly  scandalized  by  the  fact  that  twenty 
thousand  crowns  of  gold  were  given  to  one  of  these  female 
dancers  on  her  marriage.  Some  of  them  were  known  to 
leave  fortunes  of  three  hundred  thousand  crowns,  after 

1  Sidon.     Apollin.  in   Narbon.     Suetonius   in   Calig.,    c.    54,   et 
in  Neron,  ch.  xvi.  54.     Aristot.  Poet.  sub.  init. 

2  See  Tacitus,  Ann.  i.  54. 


220  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

living  in  the  greatest  luxury  all  their  lives.  The  profes- 
sion seems  to  have  heen  as  lucrative  then  as  now ;  and 
some  of  the  old  stories  show  the  same  madness  for  the 
ancient  dancers  that  in  our  days  we  have  seen  and  felt, 
perhaps,  for  Fanny  Ellsler  and  Cerito. 

The  art  of  the  ancient  pantomimists  was  not  confined  to 
the  theatre,  but  at  dinners  and  festive  entertainments  the 
meats  were  carved  by  actors,  who,  flourishing  their  knives, 
performed  this  service  with  dancing  and  gesticulation  to 
the  sound  of  music.  To  them  Juvenal  alludes  in  these 
lines :  — 

' '  Structorem  interea  ne  qua  indignatio  desit, 
Saltantem  species  et  chirouomonta  volanti 
Cultello." 

Such  men  as  Cicero  raised  in  Rome  the  dignity  of  actors, 
and  gave  repute  to  the  genius  of  ./Esopus  and  Roscius. 
The  latter  actor  obtained  such  a  hold  of  the  Roman 
people,  and  became  such  a  favorite,  that  he  received  a 
thousand  denarii  every  day  that  he  performed ;  while 
^Esopus  left  his  son  a  fortune  of  two  hundred  thousand 
sesterces  acquired  solely  by  his  profession. 

Lucian  has  composed  a  treatise  on  pantomimes,  and 
Macrobius  tells  a  story  of  two  pantomimists,  Hylas  and 
Pylades,  which  is  interesting  as  showing  the  spirit  which 
they  threw  into  their  performances.  When  Hylas  was 
dancing  a  hymn  which  ended  with  the  words  "  the  great 
Agamemnon,"  he  drew  himself  up  and  assumed  an  erect 
attitude,  endeavoring  thereby  to  express  their  literal  mean- 
ing, but  Pylades  censured  this  as  ill-conceived,  saying, 
"You  make  him  tall,  but  not  great."  The  audience  there- 
upon called  upon  Pylades  to  dance  the  same  hymn,  and 
when  he  came  to  this  passage  he  assumed  a  posture  of 
deep  meditation. 

An  example  of  the  pantomimic  plays  is  furnished  by 
Apuleius  (1.  10,  Miles,  p.  233),  in  which  he  gives  a  full 
description  of  a  performance  where  the  whole  story  of  the 
Judgment  of  Paris  was  told  by  dance  and  gesture.  Not 
only  stories  of  this  character  were  danced,  but  also  tragic 
histories  and  incidents ;  and  Appianus  Alexandrinus  men- 
tions a  pantomime  play  founded  on  the  slaughter  of  Cras- 
sus  and  the  destruction  of  his  army  by  the  Parthians. 


ANCIENT  PANTOMIMES.  221 

Even  the  emperors  did  not  always  occupy  the  seats  of 
spectators,  but  joined  in  the  acting.  And  Suetonius  relates 
that  Nero,  when  laboring  under  a  severe  disease,  made  a 
vow,  in  case  of  his  recovery,  to  dance  the  story  of  Turnus 
in  the  JEneid. 

Ferrarius,  who  has  written  a  learned  dissertation  on  this 
subject,1  asserts  that  in  his  time  (1719)  vestiges  of  these 
pantomimes  still  existed  in  Italy  almost  in  their  ancient 
form  ;  and  that  certain  dances  performed  in  Lombardy 
by  the  Mattaccini  were  merely  the  old  pantomimic  dances 
of  the  Luperci.  These  dancers  were  clothed  in  a  tight- 
fitting  dress  completely  showing  their  figures,  and  wore  the 
mask  of  an  old  man  with  a  prominent  chin  and  no  beard. 
They  ran  through  the  streets  dancing,  holding  their  hands 
to  their  foreheads,  and  beating  the  persons  they  met  with 
"  ecourgees"  like  the  ancient  Luperci.  They  were  very 
agile,  running  before  carriages  when  at  full  speed,  climb- 
ing up  walls  of  houses  and  entering  through  windows. 
They  counterfeited  various  trades,  such  as  those  of  barber 
and  shoemaker,  and  performed  mock  combats,  in  which, 
after  a  certain  time,  one  would  fall  and  pretend  to  be 
dead,  on  which  his  comrade  would  lift  him  up  and  carry 
him  off  dancing.  Apropos  of  this,  Ferrarius  tells  a  story 
of  two  young  men  who  fell  in  love  with  the  same  girl. 
One  of  them  finally  won  her  hand ;  and  on  the  day  of  his 
wedding,  while  surrounded  by  his  friends,  he  was  visited 
by  a  company  of  persons  in  masks  pretending  to  be  Mat- 
taccini, who  at  once  began  to  dance.  One  of  these  ap- 
proached the  bridegroom  and  whispered  in  his  ear,  when 
he  at  once  arose  a.nd  without  suspicion  mixed  in  the  mas- 
querade. After  dancing  with  them,  he  engaged  in  a 
feigned  combat  with  one  of  the  party,  and  finally,  pretend- 
ing to  be  killed,  dropped  down  as  if  dead,  according  to 
the  usual  custom  of  this  dance.  The  others  immediately 
lifted  him  up  and  carried  him  off  on  their  shoulders  into 
a  neighboring  chamber,  dancing  to  a  sad  air  as  if  they 
were  attending  a  funeral.  The  jest  was  admirable,  and 
all  the  company  were  much  diverted.  But  after  the  dan- 

1  De  Mimis  et  Pantominiis  Dissertatio,  1714.     See  also  Nicolaus 
Calliachus,  De  Ludis  Scenicis. 


222  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

cers  had  all  disappeared  the  bridegroom  did  not  return, 
and  his  guests,  finally  becoming  alarmed,  sought  for  him 
in  the  chamber  where  he  had  been  carried  by  the  Mattac- 
cini,  and  there  they  found  him  on  the  floor  —  dead  — 
strangled  by  his  rival,  who  had  been  one  of  the  dancers. 

For  these  pantomimic  performances  the  Italians  show 
their  ancient  madness.  An  inferior  opera  they  will  bear 
with  tolerable  patience,  but  they  know  not  how  to  put  up 
with  the  disappointment  of  a  bad  ballet  and  pantomime. 
In  both,  however,  they  are  severe  but  just  critics,  and 
express  their  disapprobation  at  false  singing  or  inferior 
execution  in  the  openest  way  ;  sometimes  by  loud  laughter, 
and  sometimes  by  remorseless  hissing.  Many  a  time  have 
I  seen  them  stop  a  bad  performance  by  strong  expressions 
of  displeasure,  such  as  crying  out  to  the  impresario,  jeer- 
ing the  unfortunate  actor,  and  at  times  refusing  to  allow 
him  to  proceed  in  his  part.  This  is  more  intelligible  when 
it  is  considered  that  the  audience  are  for  the  most  part 
abonnes  for  the  season,  and  cannot  revenge  themselves  on 
the  offending  person  by  withdrawing  from  all  future  re- 
presentations —  for  by  so  doing  they  would  merely  tbrow 
away  at  once  their  money  and  their  amusement.  When, 
therefore,  an  actor  or  singer  does  not  please  them,  they 
let  the  impresario  know  the  fact  very  unmistakably,  and 
he  always  has  the  good  sense  to  remove  the  offence.  When 
it  is  the  play  or  the  opera  itself  to  which  they  object,  they 
await  the  falling  of  the  curtain  in  the  entr'acte,  or  at  the 
close  of  the  piece,  and  then  assail  it  with  a  storm  of  hisses 
and  groans. 

With  equal  enthusiasm  they  express  their  satisfaction 
at  an  admirable  performance  or  with  a  favorite  actor  or 
singer.  Repetitions,  however,  are  not  generally  allowed 
in  the  opera,  and  "  Bis,  bis,"  meets  with  no  other  result 
than  renewed  courtesies  and  bows.  When  the  curtain 
falls,  if  they  are  particularly  pleased,  loud  cries  of  "  Fuori, 
fuori "  (out,  out)  are  heard,  which  the  main  actors  or 
singers  acknowledge  by  making  their  appearance  again 
with  bows  and  courtesies.  This  is  sometimes  repeated, 
when  they  are  greatly  pleased,  as  many  as  six  or  eight 
times.  It  is  so  constant  a  practice  that,  to  save  the  neces- 


CENSORSHIP.  223 

sity  on  such  occasions  of  raising  the  whole  drop  scene,  a 
large  opening  is  cut  in  the  centre,  with  flying  curtains  on 
either  side,  through  which  the  actors  enter  to  answer  the 
congratulations  and  bravos  of  the  audience. 

Nothing  can  be  either  published  or  performed  in  Rome 
without  first  submitting  to  the  censorship,  and  obtaining 
the  permission  of  the  "  Custodies  morum  et  rotulorum." 
Nor  is  this  a  mere  form ;  on  the  contrary,  it  is  a  severe 
ordeal,  out  of  which  many  a  play  comes  so  mangled  as 
scarcely  to  be  recognizable.  The  pen  of  the  censor  is 
sometimes  so  ruthlessly  stuck  through  whole  acts  and 
scenes  that  the  fragments  do  not  sufficiently  hang  together 
to  make  the  action  intelligible,  and  sometimes  permission 
is  absolutely  refused  to  act  the  play  at  all.  In  these  latter 
days  the  wicked  people  are  so  ready  to  catch  at  any  words 
expressing  liberal  sentiments,  and  so  apt  to  give  a  political 
significance  to  innocent  phrases,  that  it  behooves  the  censor 
to  put  on  his  best  spectacles.  Yet  such  is  the  perversity 
of  the  audience,  that  his  utmost  care  often  proves  unavail- 
ing, and  sometimes  plays  are  ordered  to  be  withdrawn 
from  the  boards  after  they  have  been  played  by  permission. 

The  same  process  goes  on  with  the  libretti  of  the  operas ; 
and  although  Rome  has  not  yet  adopted  the  custom  first 
introduced  by  that  delicate-minded  guardian  of  public 
morals,  King  Ferdinand  of  Naples,  surnamed  Bomba,  of 
obliging  the  ballet-dancers  to  wear  long  blue  drawers  and 
pantalets,  yet  some  of  its  requirements  recall  the  fable  of 
the  ostrich,  which,  by  merely  hiding  its  head,  fondly 
imagines  it  can  render  its  whole  body  invisible.  In  this 
way,  they  have  attempted  to  conceal  the  offence  of  cer- 
tain well-known  operas,  with  every  air  and  word  of  which 
the  Romans  are  familiar,  simply  by  changing  the  title 
and  the  names  of  the  characters,  while  the  story  remains 
intact.  Thus,  certain  scandalous  and  shameful  stories 
attached  to  the  name  of  Alexander  VI.  and  to  the  family 
of  the  Borgia,  the  title  of  Donizetti's  famous  opera  of 
"  Lucrezia  Borgia  "  has  been  altered  to  that  of  "  Elena 

• 

da  Fosco."  Under  this  name  alone  is  it  permitted  to  be 
played,  and  in  the  famous  bass-song  of  the  Duke,  the 
words  — 


224  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

"  Non  sempre  chiusa  al  Popolo 
Fu  la  fatal  laguna  ' ' 

are  not  permitted  on  the  stage,  but  have  been  softened 
into  — 

' '  Non  sempre  f  ra  le  nuvole 
Ascosa  va  la  luna, ' ' 

although  there  is  not  a  gamin  in  Rome  who  does  not 
know  every  word  of  the  principal  songs  by  heart.  In 
like  manner,  "  I  Puritani "  is  whitewashed  into  "  Elvira 
Walton ;  "  and  in  the  famous  duo  of  Suoni  la  tromba,  the 
words  gridando  liberta  become  gridando  lealta.  This 
amiable  government  also,  unwilling  to  foster  a  belief  in 
devils,  rebaptizes  "  Roberto  il  Diavolo  "  into  "  Roberto 
in  Picardia,"  and  conceals  the  name  of  "  William  Tell " 
under  that  of  "  Rodolfo  di  Sterlink."  "  Les  Huguenots," 
in  the  same  way,  becomes  in  Rome  "  Gli  Anglicani,"  and 
''Norma"  sinks  into  "La  Foresta  d' Trminsul."  Yet, 
notwithstanding  this,  the  principal  airs  and  concerted 
pieces  are  publicly  sold  with  their  original  names  at  all 
the  shops.  A  most  absurd  instance  of  the  manner  in 
which  operas  are  altered  by  the  censorship  occurred  a 
year  or  two  ago,  when  Gounod's  "  Faust"  was  first 
brought  out  on  the  Roman  stage.  Of  course  it  was  a 
scandal  to  represent  Mephistopheles  in  Rome,  but  the 
difficulty  was  how  to  give  the  piece  without  him.  At  last, 
however,  the  affair  was  happily  arranged.  Mephistoph- 
eles was  changed  into  a  homoeopathic  doctor,  who,  by 
administering  certain  wonderful  medicines  to  Faust,  ef- 
fected in  him  a  sudden  and  amazing  transformation  from 
age  to  youth.  The  first  difficulty  being  overcome,  it  was 
comparatively  easy  to  obliterate  all  the  other  diabolical 
features,  though  the  Romans  very  naively  asked  at  first 
why  the  maestro  should  have  given  such  a  peculiar  style 
of  music  to  the  homoeopathic  doctor. 

Nor  does  the  censor  only  undertake  to  alter  the  words 
and  characters  of  an  opera.  It  even  rewrites  the  verses 
of  Dante,  and  lately  the  Signora  Vitaliani,  having  asked 
permission  to  recite  at  the  Theatre  Valle  the  famous  epi- 
sode of  "  Ugolino  "  from  the  "  Inferno,"  every  word  of 
which  is  as  "  familiar  as  his  garter  "  to  every  Roman,  it 
was  granted,  but  the  line  — 


ITALIAN  ACTING.  225 

"  E  questo  F  arcivescovo  Ruggieri," 
was  altered  by  the  censor  to  — 

"  Quest'  e  degli  Ubaldin  1'  empio  Ruggieri," 

so  that  the  fact  of  his  being  an  archbishop  might  be  con- 
cealed. But  the  audience,  who  knew  the  real  line,  broke 
into  such  a  storm  of  hisses  and  cries  that  it  was  impos- 
sible for  the  Signora  Vitaliani  to  proceed  with  her  recita- 
tion.1 

Of  the  theatres  for  the  drama  the  best  is  the  Valle, 
where  there  is  generally  an  admirable  company.  The 
Italians  are  good  actors,  and  entirely  without  that  self- 
consciousness  and  inflated  affectation  which  are  the  bane 
of  the  English  stage.  Everything  with  us  is  exaggerated 
and  pompous.  We  cannot  even  say  u  How  do  you  do  ?  " 
without  mouthing.  There  is  no  vice  against  which  Ham- 
let warns  the  players  that  is  not  rampant  in  our  theatres. 
The  Italians,  on  the  contrary,  are  simple  and  natural. 
Their  life,  which  is  public,  out  of  doors,  and  gregarious, 
gives  them  confidence,  and  by  nature  they  are  free  from 
self-consciousness.  The  same  absence  of  artificiality  that 
marks  their  manners  in  life  is  visible  on  their  stage.  One 
should,  however,  understand  the  Italian  character,  and 
know  their  habits  and  peculiarities,  in  order  fitly  to  relish 
their  acting.  It  is  as  different  from  the  French  acting  as 
their  character  is  different  from  that  of  the  French. 
While  at  the  Theatre  Francjais,  in  Paris,  one  sees  the 
most  perfect  representation  of  artificial  life,  society,  man- 
ners, and  dress,  —  on  the  Italian  stage  there  is  more  pas- 
sion, tenderness,  pathos,  and  natural  simplicity.  In  high 
comedy,  where  the  scene  is  in  the  artificial  sphere  of 
fashionable  life,  the  French  are  decidedly  superior  to  all 
other  people  ;  but  where  the  interest  of  the  piece  is 
wholly  apart  from  toilette,  etiquette,  and  mode  (three 
very  French  words  and  things),  the  Italians  are  more 
natural  and  affecting.  They  generally  seem  quite  uncon- 

1  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  say,  that  all  this,  as  well  as  much 
more  that  is  written  in  this  book  is  of  the  past,  when  Rome  was  un- 
der the  Papal  dominion. 
15 


226  ROBA  Dl  ROMA. 

scious  of  their  audience,  and  one,  at  times,  might  easily 
imagine  himself  to  be  looking  into  a  room,  of  which,  with- 
out the  knowledge  of  the  occupant,  one  wall  is  broken 
down.  There  is  none  of  that  constant  advancing  to  the 
footlights,  and  playing  to  the  pit,  which  is  so  unpleasant 
a  characteristic  of  the  English  stage.  The  tone  of  the 
dialogue  is  conversational,  the  actors  talk  to  each  other 
and  not  to  the  house,  and  in  their  movements  and  man- 
ners they  are  as  easy  and  nonchalant  as  if  they  were  in 
the  privacy  of  their  own  home.  In  tragedy  their  best 
actors  are  very  powerful ;  but  ordinarily  speaking,  their 
playing  is  best  in  affecting  drama  of  common  life,  where 
scope  is  given  to  passion  and  tenderness.  In  character- 
parts,  comedy  and  farce,  too,  they  are  admirable  ;  and 
out  of  Italy  the  real  buffo  does  not  exist.  Their  imper- 
sonations, without  overstepping  the  truth  of  natural  oddity, 
exhibit  a  humor  of  character  and  a  genial  susceptibility 
to  the  absurd  which  could  scarcely  be  excelled.  Their 
farce  is  not  dry,  witty,  and  sarcastic,  like  the  French,  but 
rich,  and  humorous,  and  droll.  The  brillante,  who  is 
always  rushing  from  one  scrape  to  another,  is  so  full  of 
chatter  and  blunder,  ingenuity  and  good-nature,  that  it  is 
impossible  not  to  laugh  with  him  and  wish  him  well ; 
while  the  heavy  father  or  irascible  old  uncle,  in  the  midst 
of  the  most  grotesque  and  absurdly  natural  imitation, 
without  altering  in  the  least  his  character,  will  often 
move  you  by  sudden  touches  of  pathos  when  you  are  least 
prepared.  The  old  man  is  particularly  well  represented 
on  the  Italian  stage.  In  moments  of  excitement  and 
emotion,  despite  his  red  bandanna  handkerchief,  his  spas- 
modic taking  of  snuff,  and  his  blowing  of  his  nose,  —  all  of 
which  are  given  with  a  truth  which  at  first,  to  a  stranger, 
trenches  not  slightly  on  the  bounds  of  the  ludicrous,  — 
look  out  —  by  an  unexpected  and  exquisitely  natural  turn 
he  will  bring  the  tears  at  once  into  your  eyes.  I  know- 
nothing  so  like  this  suddenness  and  unexpectedness  of 
pathos  in  Italian  acting  as  certain  passages  in  "  Uncle 
Tom's  Cabin,"  which  catch  you  quite  unprepared,  and, 
expecting  to  laugh,  you  find  yourself  ciying. 

The  system  of  starring,  so  destructive  to  the  interests  of 


RISTORI  AND  RACHEL.  227 

the  drama,  is  unknown  in  Italy.  The  actors  are  enrolled 
into  dramatic  companies  by  the  various  impresarii,  and 
instead  of  being  changed  every  season,  are  engaged  for 
years  at  annual  salaries,  with  an  agreement  to  travel 
abroad  at  their  will  on  certain  established  conditions. 
The  different  actors  in  a  troupe  thus  become  habituated 
to  each  other's  playing,  and  an  effect  is  produced  which 
could  result  from  no  other  system.  As  each  one  has  his 
own  special  class  of  characters,  his  role  in  every  play 
naturally  determines  itself,  and  jealousies  and  heart-burn- 
ings are  thereby  to  a  great  extent  avoided.  In  this  way 
Ristori  and  Salvini  were  engaged,  and  for  years  made  the 
circuit  of  the  principal  cities  in  Italy  with  the  company  to 
which  they  belonged.  Season  after  season  the  same  com- 
pany returned  to  the  Teatro  Valle  at  Rome  ;  and  here 
Ristori  made  herself  a  warm  favorite  among  the  Romans 
long  before  she  left  Italy  to  win  a  European  fame.  Many 
and  many  a  time  in  '48  and  '49  have  I  seen  her  act  on  the 
boards  of  this  theatre.  Her  role  then  was  principally  in 
comedy,  in  which  she  was  more  admirable  than  in  tragedy, 
and  in  such  parts  as  the  Locandiera  of  Goldoni  she  had  no 
equal.  At  this  period,  too,  I  remember  with  special  de- 
light her  acting  in  the  character  of  Elmire,  in  Moliere's 
"  Tartuffe."  Indeed,  the  company  to  which  she  was  at- 
tached performed  this  play  with  a  perfection  I  never  again 
expect  to  see  ;  and  after  which,  the  traditional  acting  of  it 
at  the  Theatre  Francjais,  good  as  it  was,  was  a  disappoint- 
ment. Tartuffe  is  essentially  an  Italian  part.  He  cannot 
be  understood  in  Paris  as  in  Rome,  where  he  daily  walks 
the  street ;  and  the  Tartuffe  of  the  Roman  interregnum  of 
'48  was  not  only  a  terrible  satire  on  the  priestcraft,  but 
perfectly  true  to  nature  in  all  its  details.  How  the 
audience  and  the  actors  relished  it !  what  enthusiasm  there 
was  in  those  days !  Since  the  return  of  the  Pope  from 
Gaeta,  Tartuffe  is  banished  from  the  stage,  if  not  from 
Rome. 

Ristori  was  at  this  time  in  the  very  flower  of  her  youth, 
and  a  more  beautiful  person  one  could  not  easily  see,  even 
in  Italy.  It  was  not  until  she  had  become  a  little  passee 
for  La  Locandiera  that  she  took  to  tragedy  and  made  her 


228  ROBA  Dl  ROMA, 

l 

visit  to  France.  Since  then  her  whole  style  has  changed, 
and  she  does  not  please  the  Romans  so  much  as  in  her 
earlier  days.  She  is  now  more  stately,  elaborate,  and 
calculated  in  her  art ;  then  she  was  more  simple,  natural, 
ard  impulsive.  She  has  been  within  the  circle  of  Rachel 
and  has  felt  her  influence,  though  she  is  in  no  wise  her 
imitator.  Comedy  she  rarely  plays ;  but  in  tragedy  she 
has  achieved  great  distinction.  One  is  always  tempted  to 
compare  her  with  Rachel ;  but  they  are  very  different  in 
their  powers.  Rachel  was  a  Lamia  —  a  serpent  woman, 
and  her  greatness  was  in  the  representation  of  wicked  and 
devilish  passions.  Love  and  tenderness  were  beyond  her 
faculties ;  but  rage,  revenge,  and  all  demoniac  emotions 
she  expressed  with  unequalled  power.  In  scenes  of  great 
excitement  that  pale  slender  figure  writhed  like  a  serpent ; 
and  the  thin  arm  and  hand  seemed  to  crawl  along  her  rich 
draperies,  and  almost,  hiss,  so  subtle  and  wonderfully  ex- 
pressive was  its  movement.  "What  a  face  and  figure  she 
had,  capable  of  expressing  all  the  venom  of  the  characters 
she  loved  to  play !  Ristori,  on  the  contrary,  excels  in  the 
representation  of  the  more  womanly  and  gentle  qualities. 
Her  acting  is  more  of  the  heart  —  love,  sorrow,  noble 
indignation,  passionate  desire,  heroic  fortitude,  she  ex- 
presses admirably.  The  terrible  parts  of  Myrra  and 
Medea  she  softens  by  the  constant  presence  of  a  deep  sor^ 
row  and  longing.  The  horror  of  the  deed  is  obscured  by 
the  pathos  of  the  acting  and  the  exigencies  of  the  circum- 
stances. Rachel  seemed  to  joy  in  the  doing  of  horrible 
acts ;  Ristori  to  be  driven  to  them  by  violent  impulses 
beyond  her  power  to  control.  Her  Medea  is  as  affecting 
as  it  is  terrible ;  her  Judith,  so  heroic  and  inspired  that 
you  forget  her  deed  in  the  self-sacrifice  and  love  of  country 
which  prompted  it.  Bravely  as  she  carries  herself,  there 
is  always  apparent  an  undercurrent  of  womanly  repulsion 
which  she  is  forced  to  overcome  by  great  resolution.  The 
objection  to  her  acting  is  that  it  is  too  formal  and  self- 
conscious.  She  is  never  carried  away  herself,  and  there- 
fore fails  to  carry  away  her  audience.  Admirable  as 
she  is,  she  lacks  the  last  highest  quality  of  genius  in  an 
actor  —  she  acts,  —  she  gives  a  little  too  much  stress  to 


MODENA  AND  SALVINL  229 

unimportant  details ;  and  as  she  grows  older  grows  more 
mannered.  The  influence  of  the  foreign  stage  has  been 
injurious  to  her,  and  deprived  her  of  that  simplicity  which 
is  the  great  charm  of  Italian  acting. 

At  the  Valle,  also,  Salvini  has  played  for  consecutive 
years  as  a  member  of  the  Dondini  corps,  both  before  and 
since  his  triumphs  in  France  and  England  have  won  for 
him  an  European  name.  Here,  too,  years  ago,  Modena 
might  be  seen,  before  his  liberalism  and  love  of  country 
exiled  him  from  Italy  after  the  sad  reverses  of  '48,  and 
deprived  the  stage  of  the  greatest  of  Italian  actors.  I 
had  never  the  good  fortune  to  see  him  but  once,  but  then 
he  performed  one  of  his  great  parts,  that  of  Louis  XI. 
His  representation  of  this  wicked,  suspicious,  sensual,  and 
decrepit  old  king  was  terrible  for  its  power  and  truth  to 
nature.  Though  a  young  man,  his  "make  up"  was  so 
artistic,  that,  even  by  the  aid  of  a  strong  opera-glass,  it  was 
impossible  to  believe  that  he  was  painted.  There  were 
the  seamy  parchment  forehead,  the  deeply-channelled 
cheeks,  the  dropping  jaw,  rheumy  eyes,  and  silvery  blotched 
complexion  of  eighty ;  his  back  was  curved,  one  shoulder 
higher  than  the  other,  and  the  whole  frame  marked  with 
infirmity ;  his  walk  was  stiff  and  cramped,  his  gesture 
spasmodic,  his  hands  trembling  and  clutching  constantly 
at  his  dress  ;  his  voice  was  weak  and  harsh,  and  in  violent 
paroxysms  of  passion,  when  most  actors,  forgetting  their 
feigned  weakness,  raise  their  voice,  his  tones  became  ex- 
tinguished and  convulsive,  bursting  only  now  and  then  into 
a  wiry  scream.  Never  for  a  moment  did  he  forget  the 
character  he  was  acting ;  or  rather,  so  completely  had  he 
fused  himself  into  it,  that  he  himself  seemed  no  longer 
to  exist.  So  ghastly  a  picture  of  blasted,  passionate, 
and  sensual  old  age,  where  empty  desires  had  outlived 
their  physical  satisfaction,  and  the  violence  of  internal 
passions,  paralyzing  the  impotent  body,  ended  in  con- 
vulsion, I  never  saw  before  or  after. 

Salvini,  who  is  of  the  same  school  of  acting  as  Modena, 
has  almost  an  equal  genius.  His  Saul  is  a  wonderful  per- 
formance, worthy  to  stand  beside  the  Louis  XI.  of  Modena. 
The  mixture  of  rage  and  insanity  in  this  tormented  spirit 


230  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

—  his  trances  when  the  facts  of  the  world  around  him 
disappear  before  the  terrible  visions  conjured  up  by  his 
brain  —  the  subsequent  intervals  of  painful  weakness  and 
senile  sorrow  —  are  expressed  as  only  an  actor  of  great 
imagination  could  express  them.  So,  too,  his  Othello,  in 
another  way,  is  quite  as  remarkable.  The  tragedy  moves 
on  with  an  even  and  constantly  accelerating  pace  from 
beginning  to  end.  The  quiet  dignity  of  the  first  scenes, 
where  he  shows  the  gentle  manliness  of  his  love,  and 
pleads  his  cause  —  the  turbulent  changes  of  passion,  when, 
stung  by  the  poisonous  insinuations  of  lago,  he  tortures 
himself  by  doubts,  and  writhes  at  last  in  the  toils  of 
jealousy  and  madness  —  the  plaintive  sorrow  and  pathos 
of  his  suffering  —  the  fierce  savageness  of  his  attack  on 
lago,  when,  in  a  moment  of  revulsion,  he  seizes  him  by 
the  throat,  and,  flinging  him  to  the  ground,  towers  over 
him  in  a  tempest  of  frightful  rage  —  his  cruel,  bitter  taunt- 
ing of  Desdemona,  when,  wrought  upon  by  lago,  he  be- 
lieves her  guilty  —  and  the  last  fearful  scene  before  the 
murder,  where  he  bids  her  confess  her  sins  and  pray,  are 
given  with  a  gradation  and  power,  compared  with  which 
all  English  representations  seem  cold  and  artificial.  Noth- 
ing is  European  in  his  embodiment  of  Othello ;  it  is  the 
inflammatory  passion  of  the  East  bursting  forth  like  fire, 
and  consuming  a  noble  and  tortured  nature  —  it  is  the 
Moor  himself,  as  Shakespeare  drew  him. 

In  the  last  interview  with  Desdemona,  Salvini  is  won- 
derful. Like  a  tiger  weaving  across  his  cage,  he  ranges 
to  and  fro  along  the  farthest  limits  of  the  stage,  now  steal- 
ing away  from  her  with  long  strides  and  avoiding  her 
approaches,  and  now  turning  fiercely  round  upon  her  and 
rolling  his  black  eyes,  by  turns  agitated  by  irresolution, 
touched  by  tenderness,  or  goading  himself  into  rage,  until 
at  last,  like  a  storm,  he  seizes  her  and  bears  her  away  to 
her  death.  In  all  this  Salvini  never  forgets  that  the  Moor, 
though  maddened  by  jealousy,  acts  on  a  false  notion  of 
justice  and  not  of  revenge  :  — 

"  Oh  I  were  damned  beneath  all  depth  in  hell 
But  that  I  did  proceed  upon  just  grounds 
To  this  extremity." 


ITALIAN  AUDIENCES.  231 

After  the  deed  has  been  accomplished,  what  can  exceed 
the  horror  of  his  ghastly  face  as  he  looks  out  between  the 
curtains  he  gathers  about  him  when  he  hears  Emilia's 
knock  —  or  the  anguish  and  remorse  of  that  wild,  terrible 
cry  as  he  leans  over  her  dead  body,  after  he  knows  her 
innocence  —  or  the  savage  rage  of  that  sudden  scream 
with  which  he  leaps  upon  Jago  ?  But  this  is  the  last  out- 
burst of  passion.  Henceforward  to  the  end  nothing  can 
be  more  imposing  than  Salvini's  representation  of  the 
broken-hearted  Moor.  He  resumes  his  original  bearing. 
He  is  calm  in  his  resolution  and  dignified  in  his  despair. 
Nothing  remains  but  death,  and  he  will  die  as  becomes 
his  great  nature.  His  last  speech  is  grand,  simple,  and 
calm.  After  these  words  — 

"  I  took  by  the  throat  the  circumcised  dog 
And  smote  him ' '  — 

he  pauses,  raises  himself  to  his  full  height,  and  looks 
proudly  around ;  then  hissing  out  "  Thus,"  he  suddenly 
draws  his  curved  knife  across  his  throat  and  falls  back- 
ward dead. 

The  Italians  at  the  theatre  are  like  children.  The  scene 
represented  on  the  stage  is  real  to  them.  They  sympathize 
with  the  hero  and  heroine,  detest  the  villain,  and  identify 
the  actor  with  the  character  he  plays.  They  applaud  the 
noble  sentiments  and  murmur  at  the  bad.  When  Othello 
calls  lago  "  honest"  there  is  a  groan  over  the  whole  house, 
and  whenever  lago  makes  his  entrance  a  movement  of 
detestation  is  perceptible  among  the  audience.  Scarcely 
will  they  sit  quietly  in  their  seats  when  he  kneels  with 
Othello  to  vow  his  "  wit,  hands,  heart  to  wronged  Othello's 
service,"  but  openly  cry  out  against  him.  I  have  even 
heard  them  in  a  minor  theatre  hiss  an  actor  who  repre- 
sented a  melodramatic  Barbarossa  who  maltreated  the 
Italians,  giving  vent  to  their  indignation  by  such  loud 
vociferation,  that  the  poor  actor  was  forced  to  apologize 
by  deprecatory  gestures,  and  to  recall  to  their  minds  the 
fact  that  he  was  acting  a  part.  So  openly  is  the  sympathy 
of  the  audience  expressed  that  it  is  sometimes  difficult  to 
induce  an  actor  to  take  the  villain's  role. 


232  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

On  one  occasion  I  was  present  at  the  Cocomero  Theatre 
in  Florence,  when  a  French  play  was  performed,  founded 
on  the  murder  of  the  Duchess  de  Praslin.  Strong  disap- 
probation was  exhibited  during  the  first  acts ;  but  when 
finally  the  assassin  issues  from  behind  the  curtain  after 
committing  the  fatal  act,  with  a  bloody  dagger  in  his  hand 
and  his  clothes  stained  with  blood,  the  whole  audience  rose 
as  a  single  man,  and,  with  a  loud  groan  of  disgust,  drove 
the  actor  from  the  stage  and  refused  to  allow  the  perform- 
ance to  continue. 

The  other  afternoon,  in  the  Mausoleum  of  Augustus,  I 
was  listening  to  a  play  in  which  one  of  the  characters  was 
a  heartless,  hypocritical  money-lender,  without  bowels  of 
compassion  for  his  poor  debtors,  and  who  was  privately 
endeavoring  to  ruin  a  poor  woman,  for  whom  he  publicly 
expressed  his  sympathy.  On  his  declaring,  in  one  of  the 
scenes,  that  he  was  ready  to  assist  her  in  every  way,  for 
his  heart  was  too  tender  to  deny  anything  to  the  poor  and 
suffering,  my  neighbor  suddenly  broke  out  in  a  loud  voice 
with  startling  protest,  —  "  Brutto  pagliaccio,  che  ti  piglia 
un  accidente"  (Rascally  harlequin,  may  an  apoplexy  take 
you  !  )  "  JSh,  davvero,"  was  the  sympathetic  reply  of  all 
around. 

It  is  not  three  months  ago  that  a  new  play  was  brought 
out  at  the  Correa.  The  story  was  one  of  seduction,  drawn 
from  a  French  plot,  but  the  people  would  not  hear  it. 
"  E  infame.  E  pur  troppo  questo.  E  indegno,"  was 
heard  on  all  sides.  Men  who  might  perhaps  have  secretly 
followed  the  course  of  the  seducer  in  real  life  were  indig- 
nant at  its  representation  on  the  stage.  They  would  not 
permit  art  to  be  dragged  down  into  the  filthy  kennels  of 
sensual  vice.  Nor  is  this  solely  the  case  with  the  stage. 
Their  poetry,  their  romance,  their  literature  is  opposed  at 
all  points  to  that  of  the  French.  It  may  be  dull,  but  it  is 
always  decent,  always  moral.  Whatever  life  may  be,  art 
is  a  sanctuary,  and  not,  as  in  many  French  novels  of  the 
present  day,  a  neutral  ground  of  assignation  and  seduc- 
tion. 


MAUSOLEUM  OF  AUGUSTUS.  233 

are  theatrical  representations  in  the  open  air  at  the  Mau- 
soleum of  Augustus,  or,  as  it  is  more  popularly  called,  the 
Correa,  beginning  at  five  and  ending  at  half-past  eight 
o'clock.  The  theatre  itself  is  built  into  the  circular  walls 
of  the  ancient  mausoleum  of  Augustus,  that  fire,  siege,  and 
the  efforts  of  barbarians  have  failed  to  demolish ;  and  its 
popular  name  is  founded  on  the  fact  that  the  entrance  is 
through  the  cortile  of  the  Palazzo  Correa,  on  the  ground 
floor  of  which  the  tickets  of  admission  are  sold.  You 
pass  through  the  gloomy  archway  of  this  palace,  which 
stands  at  the  lower  part  of  the  Via  del  Pontefici,  near  the 
Tiber,  picking  your  way  over  a  dirty  pavement,  which, 
nevertheless,  if  you  examine,  you  will  find  to  be  composed 
of  beautiful  fragments  of  serpentine  grimed  with  filth  and 
age,  which  once  were  trodden  by  the  imperial  feet  of  the 
Caesars  ;  thence  issuing  into  a  shabby,  irregular  cortile,  you 
see  before  you  the  outer  shell  of  the  old  mausoleum,  with 
its  reticulated  brick-work  and  drapery  of  vines  ;  and  pass- 
ing on  through  a  doorway  over  which  are  inscribed  the 
words  "  Mausoleo  d'  Augusto"  you  ascend  two  flights  of 
stairs  to  a  landing  on  a  level  with  the  arena,  where  you 
give  up  your  ticket.  Here  your  eyes  are  arrested  by  a 
number  of  marble  slabs  let  into  the  wall,  on  which  are 
celebrated,  not  the  visits  of  emperors  and  kings,  as  you 
expected,  but  the  famous  feats  of  circus-riders  and  actors 
who  have  delighted  the  modern  Romans  in  the  arena,  and 
the  wonderful  intelligence  of  the  far-famed  "  Elefantessa, 
Miss  Babb"  One  of  these  is  worth  copying  for  magnilo- 
quence :  — 

"  Cessa  la  loquace  tromba  della  fama  ove  non  giunga 
il  name  di  Giovanni  Guillaume,  superbo  frenatore  del 
destrieri,  cui  straordinariamente  plaudiva  la  Citta  del 
Tebro  net  autunni  1851  e  1852." 

From  this  landing  we  enter  at  once  the  circular  arena, 
enclosed  within  lofty  walls  and  open  above  to  the  sky. 
Five  tiers  of  brick  steps,  receding  all  around  to  an  arcade 
of  sixty-one  arches,  over  which  is  an  open  terrace  guarded 
by  an  iron  railing,  constitute  the  permanent  seats ;  and 
one-half  the  arcade  is  divided  into  private  boxes,  which 
are  sold  to  the  gentry.  On  one  side  is  erected  a  covered 


234  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

stage,  with  curtain,  drop-scene,  and  coulisses,  and  in  front 
of  this  a  portion  of  the  open  space  of  the  arena  is  tempo- 
rarily railed  off  and  filled  with  numbered  chairs,  where 
the  great  mass  of  the  audience  sit.  The  price  of  a  seat 
within  this  enclosure  is  fifteen  baiocchi,  but  outside  the 
railing  and  on  the  brick  steps  the  price  is  only  one  paul. 
The  boxes  in  the  arcades  cost  a  few  baiocchi  more ;  but 
as  they  are  distant  from  the  stage  they  are  but  little  occu- 
pied, except  when  the  arena  is  used  for  circus  perform- 
ances, in  which  case  the  stage  and  the  railed-off  enclos- 
ures are  removed,  and  they  become  the  chief  places.  The 
outer  walls  are  so  high  that  by  five  o'clock  the  arena  is 
quite  in  shadow,  and  there  one  may  pass  an  hour  or  two 
most  agreeably  in  the  summer  afternoon,  smoking  a  cigar 
and  listening  often  to  admirable  acting.  The  air  is  cool 
and  fresh  ;  there  is  no  vile  smell  of  steaming  lamps ;  the 
smoke  from  the  cigars  ascends  into  the  open  sky  and 
disturbs  no  one ;  great  white  clouds  drift  now  and  then 
over  you ;  swallows  hurtle  above,  darting  to  and  fro  inces- 
santly in  curving  flight,  and  the  place  is  in  all  respects 
most  enjoyable.  If  you  do  not  choose  to  listen,  you  may 
stroll  outside  the  railings  in  the  arena,  or  ascend  into  the 
open  arcade  and  chat  with  your  friends.  Are  you  thirsty, 
you  find  a  subterranean  caffe  beneath  the  brick  steps,  with 
tables  spread  out  before  it,  where  you  may  order  to  bo 
brought  to  you  beer,  wine,  bibite  of  oranges,  lemons, 
syrups  of  strawberries,  cherries,  violet,  all  sorts  of  rosolj, 
and,  if  your  taste  is  more  craving  of  excitement,  aqua- 
vitCK  and  rhum.  Cigar  venders  are  also  wandering  about ; 
and  between  the  acts  you  hear  on  all  sides  the  cry  of  "  Si- 
gari,  sigari  scelti"  The  scenery  is  very  poor,  and  with- 
out the  illusion  of  lamplight  everything  looks  tawdry ; 
but  when  the  acting  is  good,  the  imagination  supplies  the 
material  deficiencies.  It  is  only  when  the  acting  is  bad 
that  the  scenery  becomes  ludicrous.  Given  Shakespeare, 
a  blanket  will  suffice ;  but  Charles  Kean  requires  all  the 
splendor  and  pomp  of  scenic  effect  as  a  background.  A 
barrel  is  a  throne  for  a  king  ;  but  Christopher  Sly  is  not 
a  lord  even  in  "  the  fairest  chamber  hung  round  with  wan- 
ton pictures." 


MAUSOLEUM   OF  AUGUSTUS.  235 

Now  and  then  a  very  odd  effect  takes  place.  In  a  scene 
of  passionate  emotion,  when  the  lover  is  on  his  knees ; 
when  the  father  is  lifting  his  hands  to  curse  his  child ; 
when  the  mother  is  just  about  to  clasp  her  new-found 
daughter  ;  when  two  rivals  are  crossing  swords,  —  clang, 
clang,  clang,  suddenly  peal  the  bells  of  the  neighborhood, 
and  the  actors,  whose  voices  are  drowned  in  the  din,  are 
forced  to  stop  and  walk  about  the  stage,  and  wait  until  the 
noise  ceases.  The  audience  growls  and  laughs,  the  actors 
smile  and  drop  into  their  real  characters,  everybody  shrugs 
his  shoulders,  and  not  a  few  say,  "  accidente."  But  the 
grievance  is  soon  over,  and  the  scene  goes  on. 

Sometimes  a  cloud  draws  darkening  over  the  sky,  and 
a  sudden  clap  of  thunder  with  a  few  large  preliminary 
drops  brings  all  the  audience  to  their  feet,  and  a  general 
scramble  takes  place  for  the  covered  logyie.  The  play  still 
continues,  however ;  and  queer  enough  is  sometimes  the 
aspect  of  the  place.  A  few  venturous  spirits,  determined 
to  hear  as  well  as  to  see,  and  knowing  that  the  pit  is  the 
only  really  good  spot,  still  bravely  keep  their  places  under 
the  green,  purple,  and  brown  domes  of  their  umbrellas ; 
others,  braver  than  they,  who  have  not  had  the  foresight 
to  bring  umbrellas,  seize  a  chair,  and  turning  it  upside 
down,  and  holding  it  by  one  leg,  improvise  an  umbrella. 
The  last  spectacle  of  this  kind  at  which  I  was  present, 
showed  pluck  beyond  this  :  at  the  first  drops  the  greater 
part  of  the  audience  fled  to  the  loggie,  and  there  jeered 
the  few  who  resolutely  remained  under  their  umbrellas. 
But  the  rain  came  heavier  and  heavier,  and  threatened  to 
outlast  the  play,  and  one  by  one  all  left  the  pit,  except  a 
sturdy  Englishman  of  middle  age,  in  gold  spectacles,  and 
an  Italian  woman.  They  had  made  up  their  minds  never 
to  give  it  up ;  and  there  they  stayed  alone,  and  side  by 
side,  despite  the  shouts  and  laughter  of  the  audience. 
The  woman,  after  the  fashion  of  her  sex,  was  in  crinoline, 
which  was  freely  exposed  as  she  turned  up  her  skirts  to 
keep  them  dry.  Her  feet  were  planted  on  the  upper  rungs 
of  a  chair,  in  front  of  her,  with  her  knees  on  a  level  with 
her  bosom,  an  inverted  chair  was  spread  over  her  dress, 
on  either  side  of  her,  and  in  her  lap  was  a  third,  through 


236  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

the  rungs  of  which  she  had  thrust  her  arms  so  as  to  sup- 
port still  a  fourth  chair  above  her  head,  and  crouched  be- 
neath this,  she  listened  with  the  greatest  calm  to  the  play. 
At  her  side,  and  unwilling  to  be  outdone,  sat  the  English- 
man, with  his  trousers  rolled  up,  and  similarly  arranged 
in  all  respects,  save  that  he  had  a  great  green  umbrella  in- 
stead of  a  chair  over  his  head.  The  pit  swam  with  water, 
the  thunder  pealed,  the  rain  poured  in  torrents  ;  but  there, 
with  the  utmost  sang  fr 'old ,  they  sat,  neither  turning  aside 
to  encourage  each  other,  but  both  looking  steadfastly  before 
them  at  the  stage.  At  last  the  cloud  broke  up,  the  shower 
passed  over,  and  the  audience  began  to  pour  back.  The 
Englishman  never  moved,  until  an  Italian  got  before  him, 
and  upon  the  falling  of  a  few  supplementary  drops  seized  a 
chair  and  held  it  over  his  head,  so  as  to  impede  the  Eng- 
lishman's view  of  the  stage.  This  human  patience  could 
endure  no  longer.  He  dropped  his  great  umbrella  and 
gave  the  Italian  obstacle  a  punch  with  the  great  brass  fer- 
ule in  the  middle  of  the  back,  making  signs  that  he  was 
in  his  way ;  whereupon  the  obstacle  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders and  laughed,  and  moved  aside. 

Often  before  the  play  is  over,  the  shadows  of  twilight 
deepen  in  the  arena,  and  the  stars  begin  to  twinkle  over- 
head. Then  lamps  are  lighted  on  the  stage  and  around 
the  theatre,  and  the  contrast  of  the  yellow  lights  below 
and  the  silvery  star-points  above,  in  the  deep  abyss  of  the 
sky,  is  very  striking.1 

As  one  looks  around,  in  the  intervals  of  the  acting,  the 
old  reminiscences  of  the  place  will  sometimes  very  forc- 
ibly strike  the  mind ;  and  the  imagination,  running  down 
the  line  of  history  with  an  electric  thrill,  will  revive  the 
ghosts  of  the  old  days,  and  people  the  place  with  the 
shapes  of  the  Caesars,  whose  bodies  were  here  laid  in  sol- 
emn burial  eighteen  hundred  years  ago.  Why  should  not 
their  spirits  walk  here  after  the  shadows  have  begun  to 
fall,  and  the  mists  from  the  river  to  steal  over  their  tomb  ? 

1  All  this  is  entirely  changed  now.  The  theatre  has  been  cov- 
ered with  a  roof,  much  embellished  and  decorated,  and  at  times  is 
used  as  a  circus,  and  at  times  as  a  theatre.  It  has  even  changed  its 
name,  and  is  now  the  Teatro  Amberto. 


MAUSOLEUM  OF  AUGUSTUS.  237 

The  place  is  creepy  after  twilight ;  but  let  us  linger  a  few 
moments  and  give  a  glimpse  into  the  past,  or,  if  you  wish 
to  have  a  sensation,  let  us  walk  into  one  of  these  damp, 
subterranean  passages,  and  raise  a  spirit  or  two. 

Strabo  tells  us  that  this  mausoleum,  which  was  built  by 
Augustus  to  be  the  last  resting-place  for  the  ashes  of  his 
family,  originally  consisted  of  a  huge  tumulus  of  earth, 
raised  on  a  lofty  basement  of  white  marble,  and  covered 
to  the  summit  with  evergreen  plantations  in  the  manner 
of  a  hanging  garden.  On  the  summit  was  a  bronze 
statue  of  Augustus  himself,  and  beneath  the  tumulus  was 
a  large  central  hall,  round  which  ran  a  range  of  fourteen 
sepulchral  chambers,  opening  into  this  common  vestibule. 
At  the  entrance  were  two  Egyptian  obelisks,  fifty  feet  in 
height.  One  of  these  obelisks  now  stands  on  the  Quirinal 
beside  the  Dioscuri,  attributed  with  little  foundation  to 
Phidias  and  Praxiteles.  It  was  placed  there  by  Pius  VI. 
All  around  was  an  extensive  grove,  divided  into  walks 
and  terraces.  In  the  centre  of  the  plain,  opposite  to  the 
mausoleum,  was  the  bustum,  or  funeral  pile,  where  the 
bodies  were  burnt.  This  was  also  built  of  white  marble, 
surrounded  by  balustrades,  and  planted  inside  with  pop- 
lars. Its  site  has  been  recently  ascertained  to  be  close  by 
the  church  of  St.  Carlo,  in  Corso.  The  young  Marcellus, 
whose  fate  was  bewailed  by  Virgil  in  lines  that  all  the 
world  knows,  was  its  first  occupant,  and  after  him  a  long 
Caesarian  procession  laid  their  ashes  in  this  marble  cham- 
ber. Here  was  placed  Octavia,  the  mother  of  Marcellus, 
the  neglected  wife  of  Antony,  whom  Cleopatra  caught  in 
her  "  strong  toil  of  grace."  Here  lay  Agrippa,  the  builder 
of  the  Pantheon  and  husband  of  the  profligate  Julia ; 
Caius  and  Lucius,  the  emperor's  nephews  ;  Livia,  his  well- 
beloved  wife  ;  and  beside  them,  Augustus  himself.  Here, 
too,  the  poisoned  ashes  of  the  noble  Germanicus  were 
borne  from  Syria  by  Agrippina,  while  crowds  of  mourn- 
ing Romans  followed  her,  invoking  the  gods  to  spare  to 
them  his  children.  Here  the  young  first  Drusus,  the  pride 
of  the  Claudian  family,  and  at  his  side  the  second  Drususr 
the  son  of  Tiberius,  were  laid.  Here  the  dust  of  Agrip- 
pina, after  years  of  exile  and  persecution,  was  at  last  per- 


238  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

mitted  to  repose  beside  that  of  her  husband  Germanicus. 
Here  Nero,  and  his  mother  Agrippina,  and  his  victim 
Britannicus  ;  here  Tiberius,  Caligula,  Claudius,  and  all 
the  other  Caesars  down  to  Nerva,  found  their  burial-place  ; 
and  then  the  marble  door  was  closed,  for  the  sepulchral 
cells  were  full.  The  next  Caesar,  Trajan,  found  his 
burial-place  in  his  Forum ;  then  Hadrian  built  his  colossal 
mausoleum,  where  were  placed  all  the  subsequent  emperors 
down  to  Marcus  Aurelius  ;  and  subsequently  with  Sep- 
timius  Severus  begins  the  list  of  those  who  found  their 
last  resting-place  in  the  tombs  on  the  Via  Appia  and  near 
the  Porta  Capena. 

A  long  blank  space  now  occurs  in  the  history  of  the 
mausoleum.  Centuries  went  by,  while  the  ashes  of  the 
Caesars  reposed  undisturbed  in  their  marble  sepulchres. 
Then  came  a  thunder  over  their  heads ;  when  Alaric,  in 
the  fifth  century,  overwhelmed  Rome  with  his  hordes  of 
Visigoths,  broke  down  the  gate  of  the  mausoleum,  plun- 
dered the  tombs  of  the  Csesars,  and  scattered  their  ashes 
to  the  winds.  Wild  weeds  and  ivy  then  covered  with 
green  the  ruins  of  their  ravage.  Centuries  again  went  by 
without  a  change  save  that  of  time,  and  lizards  and  ser- 
pents slid  in  and  out  unmolested.  At  last  the  Colonna 
took  possession  of  it,  and  rebuilt  it  into  a  foi'tress.  But, 
enraged  with  their  treachery  after  the  repulse  of  the 
Romans  at  Tusculum,  the  populace  destroyed  all  that  was 
destructible  of  this  great  mausoleum.  It  was  too  strong 
for  them,  however.  The  mortar  and  cement  of  centuries 
had  hardened  to  stone.  Its  massive  walls  resisted  their 
attacks ;  and  Montfaucon  tells  us,  in  his  pilgrimage  to 
Rome  in  the  thirteenth  century,  that  he  saw  over  one  of 
the  arches  of  the  mausoleum  the  funeral  inscription  of 
Nerva :  "Hcec  sunt  ossa  et  cinis  Nervae  Imperatoris." l 
Again  the  Colonna  occupied  them,  rebuilt  them  into  a 
foi'tress,  and  there  withstood  the  assaults  of  Gregory  IX. 

Then  came  a  day  when  a  new  burial  took  place  here. 
It  was  of  Rome's  last  Tribune.  Murdered  at  the  foot  of 
the  Capitol,  his  dead  body  was  dragged  thence  by  the 

1  Liber  de  Mirab.  Bom.  Ap.  Montfaucon.  Diarium  Italicum, 
p.  692. 


MAUSOLEUM  OF  AUGUSTUS.  239 

Jews,  under  the  orders  of  Jugurtha  and  Sciaretta  Colonna, 
and  on  the  ruins  of  the  mausoleum  was  seen  the  first 
funeral  pyre  since  that  of  Nerva.  Every  Jew  in  Rome 
was  there,  feeding  with  dry  thistles  the  fire  that  consumed 
Rienzi's  body,  and  his  ashes  were  blown  about  by  the 
wind.  "  Cos\  qnel  corpo  fa  arso,  fa  ridotto  in  polvere  e 
non  ne  rimase  cica." 1 

But  Caesars  and  Tribune  are  alike  vanished,  and  not  a 
memorial  of  them  remains.  The  sarcophagus  which  con- 
tained the  ashes  of  Agrippina,  daughter  of  Marcus 
Agrippa  and  wife  of  Germanicus,  is  one  of  the  few  relics 
which  now  remain  of  the  pomp  of  this  splendid  mausoleum. 
The  very  stone  on  which  the  inscription  was  graven  to  her 
memory  was  afterwards  used  as  the  measure  for  three 
hundred-weight  of  corn  ;  and  it  may  still  be  seen  in  the 
court  of  the  Conservators'  Palace,  on  the  Capitoline  Hill, 
with  the  arms  of  the  modern  senate  sculptured  on  its  side, 
and  beneath  an  inscription  setting  forth  its  "  base  modern 
uses." 

This  resting-place  of  Caesars,  this  fortress  of  mediaeval 
princes,  was  afterwards  hollowed  out  into  a  vineyard,  and 
Santi  Bartoli,  in  his  work  on  Gli  Antichi  Sepolchri,  gives 
us  a  picture  of  it  in  this  state.  It  was  then  made  into  a 
circus  for  bull-fights,  which  were  only  abolished  a  few 
years  ago ;  and  now  it  is  devoted  to  the  alternate  uses  of 
a  circus  and  a  day  theatre.  Where  the  grand  imperial 
processions  of  death  once  paused,  the  particolored  clown 
tumbles  in  the  dust,  and  flinging  out  both  his  arms,  cries, 
"  Eccomi  qua.'"  In  the  chambers  where  once  were  ranged 
the  urns  of  Augustus  and  Germanicus,  stand  rows  of 
bottles  containing  beer,  liquors,  and  bibite  ;  and  the  only 
funeral  pyres  we  burn  there  now  are  the  cigars  we  smoke 
as  we  look  at  the  play  of  Julius  Caesar.  Tempora 
mutantur. 

1  "  Biography  of  Rienzi,"  by  Tommaso  Fortifiocca. 


240  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  COLOSSEUM. 

OF  all  the  ruins  in  Rome  none  is  at  once  so  beautiful,  so 
imposing,  and  so  characteristic  as  the  Colosseum.  Here 
throbbed  the  Roman  heart  in  its  fullest  pulses.  Over  its 
benches  swarmed  the  mighty  population  of  the  central  city 
of  the  world.  In  its  arena,  gazed  at  by  a  hundred  thousand 
eager  eyes,  the  gladiator  fell,  while  the  vast  velarium  trem- 
bled as  the  air  was  shaken  by  savage  shouts  of  "  Habet," 
and  myriads  of  cruel  hands,  with  upturned  thumbs,  sealed 
his  unhappy  fate.  The  sand  of  the  arena  drank  the  blood 
of  African  elephants,  lions,  and  tigers,  —  of  Mirmillones, 
Laqueatores,  Retiarii,  and  Andabatce,  —  and  of  Christian 
martyrs  and  virgins.  Here  emperor,  senators,  knights, 
and  soldiers,  the  lowest  populace  and  the  proudest  citizens, 
gazed  together  on  the  bloody  games  —  shouted  together  as 
the  favorite  won,  groaned  together  fiercely  as  the  favor- 
ite fell,  and  startled  the  eagles  sailing  over  the  blue  vault 
above  with  their  wild  cries  of  triumph.  Here  might  be 
heard  the  trumpeting  of  the  enraged  elephant,  the  savage 
roar  of  the  tiger,  the  peevish  shriek  of  the  grave-rifling 
hyena,  while  the  human  beasts  above,  looking  on  the 
slaughter  of  the  lower  beasts  beneath,  uttered  a  wilder  and 
more  awful  yell.  Rome  —  brutal,  powerful,  bloodthirsty, 
imperial  Rome  —  built  in  her  days  of  pride  this  mighty 
amphitheatre,  and,  outlasting  all  her  works,  it  still  stands, 
the  best  type  of  her  grandeur  and  brutality.  What  St. 
Peter's  is  to  the  Rome  of  to-day  was  the  Colosseum  to 
the  Rome  of  the  Caesars.  The  Baths  of  Caracalla,  grand 
as  they  are,  must  yield  precedence  to  it.  The  Caesars' 
Palaces  are  almost  level  with  the  earth.  Over  the  pave- 
ment where  once  swept  the  imperial  robes  now  slips  the 
gleaming  lizard,  and  in  the  indiscriminate  ruins  of  these 
splendid  halls  the  contadino  plants  his  potatoes  and  sells 
for  a  paul  the  oxidized  coin  which  once  may  have  paid 
the  entrance  fee  to  the  great  amphitheatre.  The  golden 
house  of  Nero  is  gone.  The  very  Forum  where  Cicero 


THE  COLOSSEUM.  241 

delivered  his  immortal  orations  is  almost  obliterated,  and 
antiquarians  quarrel  over  the  few  columns  that  remain. 
But  the  Colosseum  still  stands  :  despite  the  assault  of  time 
and  the  work  of  barbarians,  it  still  stands,  noble  and  beau- 
tiful in  its  decay  —  yes,  more  beautiful  than  ever. 

But  what  a  change  has  come  over  it  since  the  bloody 
scenes  of  the  Caesars  were  enacted  !  A  supreme  peace 
now  reigns  there.  Thousands  of  beautiful  flowers  bloom 
in  its  ruined  arches,  tall  plants  and  shrubs  wave  across 
the  open  spaces,  and  Nature  has  healed  over  the  wounds 
of  time  with  delicate  grasses  and  weeds.  Where,  through 
the  podium  doors,  wild  beasts  once  rushed  into  the  arena 
to  tear  the  Christian  martyrs,  now  stand  the  altars  and 
stations  that  are  dedicated  to  Christ.  In  the  summer  af- 
ternoon the  air  above  is  thronged  with  twittering  swal- 
lows ;  and  sometimes,  like  a  reminiscence  of  imperial 
times,  far  up  in  the  blue  height,  an  eagle,  planing  over  it 
on  widespread,  motionless  wings,  sails  silently  along. 

Here,  as  you  lie  towards  twilight,  dreaming  of  the  past, 
upon  some  broken  block  of  travertine,  you  will  see  a  pro- 
cession wending  its  way  between  the  arches,  preceded  by 
a  cross-bearer  and  two  acolytes.  It  is  composed  of  a 
Franciscan  friar  in  his  brown  serge  and  cowl,  accompanied 
by  the  religious  confraternity  of  the  "  Lovers  of  Jesus  and 
Maria,"  and  followed  by  a  group  of  women  in  black,  and 
veiled.  They  chant  together  a  hymn  as  they  slowly  ap- 
proach the  cross  planted  in  the  centre  of  the  arena.  There 
they  kneel  and  cry,  "  Adoramus  te,  Christe,  et  benedici- 
mus  te,"  with  the  response,  "  Quia  per  sanctam  crucem 
tuam  redemisti  mundum."  Then  the  monk  ascends  the 
platform  before  one  of  the  altars,  plants  his  crucifix  beside 
him,  and  preaches  a  sermon.  This  finished,  the  proces- 
sion makes  the  round  of  the  stations,  and  again  passes  out 
of  the  arena.  As  he  advances  to  the  first  station  he 
chants  — 

' '  L'  orme  sanguigne 

Del  mio  Signore, 

Tutto  dolore 

Seguiter6." 

And  the  people  respond  — 
16 


242  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

' '  Vi  prego,  o  Gesu  buono, 
Per  la  vostra  passione 
Danni  il  perdono  !  ' ' 

It  is  strange  to  hear  this  chant  and  sermon  in  a  place 
once  dedicated  to  blood  —  strange  to  hear  the  doctrine  of 
love  and  forgiveness  on  the  spot  where  the  gladiator  fell, 
and  the  martyr  suffered  for  his  faith.1 

As  you  dream  over  this  change,  the  splendor  of  sunset 
blazes  against  the  lofty  walls,  and  transfigures  its  blocks 
of  travertine  to  brown  and  massive  gold;  the  quivering 
stalks  and  weeds  seem  on  fire  ;  the  flowers  drink  in  a  glory 
of  color,  and  show  like  gems  against  the  rough  crust  of 
their  setting ;  rosy  clouds  hang  in  the  open  vault  above, 
under  which  swift  birds  flash  incessantly,  and  through  the 
shadowed  arches  you  see  long  molten  bars  of  crimson 
drawn  against  a  gorgeous  sky  beyond.  Slowly  the  great 
shadow  of  the  western  wall  creeps  along  the  arena ;  the 
cross  in  the  centre  blazes  no  longer  in  the  sun  ;  it  reaches  the 
eastern  benches,  climbs  rapidly  up  the  wall,  and  the  glory  of 
sunset  is  gone.  Twilight  now  swiftly  draws  its  veil  across 
the  sky,  the  molten  clouds  grow  cool  and  gray,  the  orange 
refines  into  citron  and  pales  away  to  tenderest  opaline  light, 
and  stars  begin  to  peer  through  the  dim  veil  of  twilight. 
Shadows  deepen  in  the  open  arena,  block  up  the  arches  and 

1  This  you  will  see  and  hear  no  longer.  The  arena,  once  so  peace- 
ful and  smoothed  over  with  low  grass,  has  been  excavated  to  exhibit 
the  foundations,  and  the  cavernous  cells  and  compartments  which 
underlie  it.  From  a  purely  archaeological  point  of  view,  this  may  be 
interesting,  but  all  the  charm  of  the  place  has  been  destroyed.  It  no 
longer  represents  the  surface  of  the  arena  as  it  was  in  the  ancient 
days,  when  the  fierce  gladiatorial  games  were  represented  ;  nor  of 
the  later  days,  when  it  was  grassed  over,  and  one  might  wander 
there,  and  re-create  in  imagination  the  bloody  scenes  of  the  past. 
All  the  stations  have  been  removed  ;  the  cross  of  Christianity  no 
longer  stands  in  the  centre.  The  processions  of  monks  and  confra- 
ternities make  no  more  their  rounds  at  twilight,  to  chant  their 
hymns  and  preach  their  sermons ;  but  you  may,  if  that  satisfies  you, 
gaze  down  into  ugly  pits  and  trenches  below,  and  wonder  for  what 
purpose  they  were  constructed.  The  walls,  too,  have  been  stripped 
of  the  flora  which  once. adorned  them,  and  are  now  bare.  Nature, 
however,  will  have  its  way,  and  despite  of  all  efforts,  at  inaccessible 
points,  and  in  crumbling  crevices,  it  still  plants  its  weeds  and 
flowers  to  gladden  and  drape  the  ravages  of  time. 


THE  COLOSSEUM.  243 

galleries,  confuse  the  lines  of  the  benches,  and  shroud  its 
decay.  You  rise  and  walk  musingly  into  the  centre  of 
the  arena,  and,  looking  around  its  dim,  vast  circumference, 
you  suddenly  behold  the  benches  as  of  old  thronged  with 
their  myriads  of  human  forms  —  the  ghosts  of  those  who 
once  sat  there.  That  terrible  circle  of  eyes  is  shining  at 
you  with  a  ghastly  expression  of  cruel  excitement.  You 
hear  the  strange,  exciting  hum  of  confused  voices,  and  the 
roar  of  wild  beasts  in  the  caverns  below.  You  are  your- 
self the  gladiator,  who  must  die  to  make  a  Roman  holiday, 
or  the  martyr  who  waits  at  the  stake  for  the  savage  beasts 
that  are  to  rend  him.  A  shudder  comes  over  you,  for  the 
place  has  magnetized  you  with  its  old  life ;  you  look 
hurriedly  round  to  seek  flight,  when  suddenly  you  hear  a 
soprano  voice  saying,  "  Francois,  where  did  the  Vestal 
Virgins  sit  ?  "  and  you  wake  from  your  dream. 

Later  still  the  moon  shines  through  the  arches,  and  soft- 
ens and  hallows  the  ruins  of  the  old  amphitheatre  ;  an 
owl  plaintively  hoots  from  the  upper  cornice,  and  from  the 
grove  near  by  you  hear  the  nightingale's  heart  throbbing 
into  song ;  voices  are  talking  under  the  galleries,  and  far 
up  a  torch  wanders  and  glimmers  along  the  wall,  where 
some  enterprising  English  party  is  exploring  the  ruins. 
The  sentinel  paces  to  and  fro  in  the  shadowy  entrance, 
and  parties  of  strangers  come  in  to  see  the  "  Colosseum  by 
moonlight."  They  march  backward  and  forward,  and 
their  "  guide,  philosopher,  and  friend,"  the  courier,  in 
broken  English  answers  their  questions.  They  are  very 
much  interested  to  know  how  long,  and  how  broad,  and 
how  high  the  amphitheatre  is,  and  how  many  persons  it 
would  hohi,  and  where  the  beasts  were  kept,  and,  above 
all,  where  the  Vestal  Virgins  sat ;  and  every  Englishman 
quotes  the  passage  from  "  Manfred,"  in  which  Lord  Byron 
describes  the  Colosseum,  and  listens  with  special  atten- 
tion for  the  owls  and  the  watch-dog,  and  is  rather  inclined 
to  think  he  has  been  cheated  unless  he  docs  happen  to 
hear  them  ;  and  every  truly  sentimental  young  lady  agrees 
with  the  poet,  when  he  says  that  the  moonlight  makes 

"  The  place 

Become  religion,  and  the  heart  run  o'er 
With  silent  worship  of  the  great  of  old," 


244  ROBA  tH  ROMA. 

who  played  such  pretty  pranks  here  some  eighteen  hun- 
dred years  ago. 

.Such  is  the  Colosseum  at  the  present  day.  Let  us  go 
back  into  the  past,  and  endeavor  to  reconstruct  it. 

We  are  in  the  beginning  of  the  reign  of  the  great  Julius, 
and  the  stormy  populace  of  Rome  has  no  amphitheatre 
for  its  gladiatorial  games  and  combats  with  wild  beasts. 
When  they  take  place,  they  are  exhibited  in  the  Forum, 
and  there  the  people  throng  and  crowd  the  temporary  seats 
by  which  a  small  arena  is  enclosed.  But  this  is  soon  felt 
to  be  insufficient  and  inconvenient,  and  Julius  for  the  first 
time  now  erects  in  the  Campus  Martius  a  great  wooden 
structure,  to  which  is  given  the  name  of  amphitheatrum. 
Before  this  we  have  only  had  theatres,  which  were  invari- 
ably semicircular  in  form,  the  seats  of  the  spectators  front- 
ing the  stage,  which  occupied  the  line  of  the  diameter. 
We  have  now,  for  the  first  time,  an  amphitheatre  in  the 
form  of  an  ellipse,  in  which  the  arena  is  entirely  enclosed 
with  tiers  of  seats,  and  this  is  the  shape  which  hencefor- 
ward all  amphitheatres  are  destined  to  take. 

This  wooden  amphitheatre,  however,  in  the  reign  of 
Augustus  gives  way  to  an  amphitheatre  of  stone,  which  at 
the  instance  of  the  emperor  is  built  in  the  Campus  Martius 
by  Statilius  Taurus.  It  was  too  small,  however,  to  satisfy 
the  wishes  of  the  people,  and  Augustus  seems  to  have 
entertained  at  one  time  a  prospect  of  building  one  still 
larger  on  the  very  spot  now  occupied  by  the  Colosseum ; 
but  among  his  various  schemes  of  embellishing  the  city, 
this  was  abandoned.  Tiberius  seems  to  have  done  nothing 
in  this  respect.  Caligula,  however,  began  to  build  a  large 
stone  amphitheatre,  but  he  died  before  it  had  made  much 
progress,  and  it  was  not  continued  by  his  successor.  Still 
later,  Nero  built  a  temporary  amphitheatre  of  wood  in  the 
Campus  Martius,  where  were  represented  those  remark- 
able games  at  which  he  was  not  only  a  spectator  but  an 
actor.  Here  at  times  he  might  be  seen  lounging  on  the 
suggestus  in  imperial  robes  of  delicate  purple,  that  flowed 
loosely  and  luxuriously  about  him,  his  head  crowned  with 
a  garland  of  flowers,  and  looking  so  like  a  woman  in  his 
dress,  that  you  might  easily  be  deceived  as  to  his  sex,  were 


THE  COLOSSEUM.  245 

it  not  for  that  cruel  face  with  his  hawk  nose  and  small 
fierce  eyes,  that  looks  out  under  the  flowers.  Here,  at 
other  times,  half  naked  and  armed  like  a  gladiator,  he 
fights  in  the  arena,  and  woe  be  to  him  who  dares  to  draw 
the  imperial  blood !  If  we  could  look  in  at  one  of  the 
games  given  in  this  amphitheatre,  we  should  see  not  only 
the  emperor  playing  the  gladiator's  part  on  the  arena,  but 
at  his  side,  and  fighting  against  each  other,  at.  times  no 
less  than  four  hundred  senators  and  six  hundred  Roman 
knights.  Here,  too,  this  mad  artist  played  his  harp, 
made  recitations  from  the  poets,  and  acted,  mixing  with 
the  populace,  and  winning  their  golden  opinions.  Scorned 
and  hated  by  the  upper  classes,  he  was  certainly  loved  by 
many  in  the  lower  ranks,1  and  for  many  a  year  upon  his 
tomb  was  daily  found  the  offering  of  fresh  flowers. 

Meanwhile,  Nero  has  built  his  golden  house  on  the  Pal- 
atine Hill,  with  its  gorgeous  halls,  theatres,  and  corridors, 
thronged  with  marble  statues ;  and  at  its  base  is  an  arti- 
ficial lake,  fed  by  pure  waters  brought  from  the  mountains, 
in  which  at  times  he  celebrates  his  naumachise.  This 
occupies  the  very  spot  on  which  the  Colosseum  is  after- 
wards to  be  built,  but  it  is  only  a  lake  during  the  reigns  of 
Galba,  Otho,  and  Vitellius.  When  Nero  set  the  torch  to 
Rome,  among  the  many  buildings  which  were  consumed 
was  the  old  amphitheatre  of  Statilius  Taurus,  and  Rome 
had  only  that  of  the  Campus  Martins,  in  which  the  brutal 
and  gluttonous  Vitellius  could  carry  on  those  gladiatorial 
games  which  were  necessary  for  the  popularity  of  the 
emperor  and  the  peace  of  the  people. 

But  when  Titus  and  Vespasian  return  after  the  conquest 
of  Jerusalem  enriched  with  spoils,  a  great  change  takes 
place.  The  populace  cries  out  for  "  Panem  et  Circenses" 
and  there  is  no  amphitheatre  in  which  they  can  fitly  be 
given.  Then  it  is  that  the  Lake  of  Nero  is  drained,  and 
out  of  the  Jewish  captives  who  have  been  brought  to 
Rome  to  grace  the  imperial  triumph,  twelve  thousand  of 
those  unhappy  slaves  whose  descendants  still  burrow  in 
the  Ghetto,  are  driven,  in  the  year  72  A.  D.,  under  the 
smack  of  the  whip,  to  lay  the  first  stones  of  the  Amphi- 
theatrum  Flavium,  which  now  goes  by  the  name  of  the 


246  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

Colosseum.  For  long  years  these  poor  wretches  toiled  at 
their  work ;  but  when  they  had  reached  the  third  tier  of 
seats  Vespasian  died.  Titus  then  continued  the  construc- 
tion, and  dedicated  the  amphitheatre  in  the  year  80  A.  D., 
but  it  was  not  completely  finished  until  the  reign  of  Dona- 
tion. At  the  dedication  by  Titus  there  was  a  magnificent 
spectacle.  The  games  lasted  for  one  hundred  days.  Fifty 
wild  beasts  were  killed  every  day,  and  no  less  than  5000 
were  slaughtered  in  the  arena.  According  to  the  tradition 
of  the  Church,  the  design  of  the  amphitheatre  was  made 
by  Gaudentius,  a  Christian  architect,  who  afterwards  suf- 
fered martyrdom  within  its  walls. 

The  building  is  at  last  finished,  and  a  magnificent  struc- 
ture it  is.  Looking  at  it  from  the  outside,  we  behold  a 
grand  elevation  of  four  stories,  built  of  enormous  blocks 
of  travertine,  that  glow  like  rough  gold  in  the  sunlight. 
The  lower  story  is  Doric,  the  second  Ionic,  the  third 
Corinthian,  and  the  fourth  Composite  ;  the  lower  three 
being  composed  of  arches  with  engaged  columns,  and  the 
upper  being  a  solid  wall  pierced  with  square  openings,  and 
faced  by  pilasters.  High  up  against  the  blue  sky  is  drawn 
the  curved  cornice  of  its  summit,  with  huge  projecting 
brackets  on  which  the  poles  supporting  the  velarium,  or 
awning,  are  fixed.1  The  two  middle  rows  of  arches  are 
thronged  with  marble  statues,  and  over  the  principal  en- 
trance is  a  great  triumphal  car  drawn  by  horses.  Just 
before  it  is  the  "  meta  sudans,"  over  whose  simple  cone, 
fixed  upon  a  square  base,  the  water  oozes  through  a  thou- 
sand perforated  holes,  and  streams  into  a  basin  below.9 
Above,  on  the  Palatine,  are  the  splendid  porticoes  and  pil- 
lars of  the  golden  house,  with  its  green  hanging  gardens, 
and  beyond,  on  the  Via  Sacra,  is  the  grand  triumphal 
arch  of  Titus,  and  afterwards  of  Trajan. 

It  is  a  holiday,  and  games  are  to  be  given  in  the  amphi- 

1  The  velarium  with  -which  Julius  covered  the  Forum  was  reputed 
to  be  of  silk,  says  Dion,  and  possibly  this  was  of  the  same  material ; 
though,  when  we  remember  that  silk,  according1  to  Vopiscus,  was 
then  worth  its  weight  in  gold,  it  would  seem  very  improbable. 

2  It  is  thus  represented  in  two  medals  struck   by  Titus  and 
Domitian. 


THE  COLOSSEUM.  247 

theatre.  The  world  of  Rome  is  flocking  to  it  from  all 
quarters.  Senators  and  knights  with  their  body-guards  of 
slaves  and  gladiators,  soldiers,  glittering  with  silver  and 
gold,  youths  with  their  pedagogues,  women,  artisans,  and 
priests,  companies  of  gladiators  marshalled  by  Lanistce, 
cohorts  with  flashing  bucklers  and  swords,  and  masses  of 
freedmen,  slaves,  and  the  common  populace  of  the  city, 
are  pouring  down  the  Via  Sacra,  and  filling  the  air  with  a 
confused  noise  and  uproar,  in  which  shouts  of  laughter 
and  cheering  are  mingled  with  the  screams  of  women  and 
the  clash  of  swords.  At  times  the  clear  piercing  shriek  of 
a  trumpet  or  the  brazen  clash  of  music  rises  above  this 
simmering  caldron  of  noise,  and  here  and  there,  looking 
up  the  human  river  that  pours  down  the  slope  of  the  Via 
Sacra,  you  see  gray  sheaves  of  bristling  spears  lifted  high 
above  the  crowd,  or  here  and  there  a  golden  eagle  that 
gleams  and  wavers  in  the  sun,  where  some  Roman  legion 
sharply  marches  through  the  loitering  mass  of  people.  We 
push  along  with  the  crowd,  and  soon  we  arrive  at  the 
amphitheatre,  where  we  pause  and  struggle  vainly  to  read 
the  libelhim  or  programme,  which  the  "  editor "  or  ex- 
hibitor has  affixed  to  the  walls,  to  inform  the  public  of  the 
names  of  the  gladiators,  and  the  different  games  and  com- 
bats of  the  day.  The  majestic  porticoes  which  surround 
the  whole  building  are  filled  with  swarms  of  people,  some 
lingering  and  lounging  there  till  the  time  shall  come  for 
the  games  to  begin,  or  looking  at  the  exquisite  designs  in 
stucco  with  which  they  are  adorned,1  and  some  crowding 
up  the  "  vomitorice"  which  at  regular  distances  lead  up  to 
the  seats.  Here  we  procure  our  tickets  for  a  numbered 
seat,  and  soon  push  up  the  steps  and  come  into  the  interior 
circle  of  the  mighty  amphitheatre,  glad  enough  at  last  to 
be  jostled  no  longer,  and  under  the  direction  of  a  locarius, 
to  get  our  seat.  Already  the  lofty  ranges  of  benches  are 

1  These  still  remained  in  the  fifteenth  century,  and  were  copied 
and  engraved  by  Giovanni  da  Udine,  in  the  time  of  Leo  X.  This 
painter,  who  was  the  first  to  revive  the  use  of  stucco,  after  the 
manner  of  the  ancient  Romans,  in  decoration  and  arabesque,  was 
employed  by  Raffaelle  to  make  the  stucco  of  the  Logge,  in  the 
Vatican,  the  designs  of  which  were  taken,  in  a  great  measure,  from 
those  which  were  found  in  the  Baths  of  Titus  and  in  the  Colosseum. 


248  ROBA  Dl  ROMA. 

beginning  to  be  filled,  and  at  a  rough  guess  there  must  be 
even  now  some  50,000  persons  there.  But  many  a  range 
is  still  empty,  and  we  know  that  87,000  persons  can  be 
seated,  while  there  is  standing  room  for  22,000  more. 
The  huge  velarium  is  bellying,  sagging,  and  swaying  above 
our  heads,  veined  with  cords,  and  throwing  a  transparent 
shadow  over  the  whole  building.  How  it  is  supported, 
who  can  tell?  But  we  may  congratulate  ourselves  that 
we  are  on  the  shady  side,  where  the  sun  does  not  beat ; 
for  the  mad  emperor,  when  the  games  have  not  been  fierce 
and  bloody  enough  to  please  him,  has  many  a  time  ordered 
a  portion  of  the  velarium  to  be  removed,  so  as  to  let  the 
burning  sun  in  upon  those  who  were  unlucky  enough  to  be 
opposite  to  it,  and  then  prohibited  any  one  from  leaving 
his  place  under  penalty  of  instant  death. 

Looking  down,  we  see  surrounding  the  arena  a  wall 
about  fifteen  feet  in  height,  faced  with  rich  marbles,  and 
intended  to  guard  the  audience  against  the  wild  beasts. 
This  is  sometimes  called  the  podium,  though  the  term  is 
more  appropriately  applied  to  the  terrace  on  the  top  of 
the  wall,  which  extends  in  front  of  the  benches,  and  is 
railed  round  by  a  trellis-work.  This,  in  the  amphitheatre 
of  Nero,  was  made  of  bronze,  but  Carinus  afterwards  sub- 
stituted golden  cords,  which  were  knotted  together  at  their 
intersections  with  amber.  There  is  the  seat  of  honor,  and 
three  or  four  ranges  of  chairs  are  set  apart  for  persons 
entitled  to  the  distinction  of  the  curule  chair.  Those, 
taking  their  seats  in  them  now,  are,  or  have  been,  some  of 
them,  praetors,  and  some  consuls,  curules,  sediles,  or  cen- 
sors. There,  too,  is  the  Flamen  Dialis.  Opposite  to  the 
praetors,  that  group  of  white-robed  women,  also  in  the 
podium,  is  the  Vestal  Virgins ;  and  there,  on  the  raised 
tribune,  is  the  seat  of  the  editor  who  exhibits  the  games. 

Above  the  podium  are  three  tiers,  called  the  mceniana, 
which  are  separated  from  each  other  by  long  platforms 
running  round  the  whole  building  and  called  prcecino 
tiones.  The  first  of  these,  consisting  of  fourteen  rows 
of  stone  and  marble  seats,  is  for  the  senators  and 
equestrian  orders,  and  they  have  the  luxury  of  a  cushion 
to  sit  upon.  The  second  tier  is  for  the  populus,  and  the 


THE  COLOSSEUM.  249 

third,  where  there  are  only  wooden  henches,  is  occupied 
by  the  pidlat.i,  or  common  people  of  the  lower  classes. 
Above  these  is  a  colonnade  or  long  gallery  set  apart  for 
women,  who  are  admitted  when  there  is  to  be  no  naked 
fighting  among  the  gladiators.  But  as  yet  the  seats  are 
empty,  for  the  women  are  not  admitted  before  the  fifth 
hour.  On  the  middle  seats  where  the  plebeians  sit  there 
is  not  a  single  person  in  black,  for  this  was  prohibited  by 
Octavius  Caesar,  and  it  was  he  also  who  ordered  that  the 
ambassadors  should  not  stand,  as  they  used  to  do,  in  the 
orchestra  or  podium,  and  that  the  young  nobles  should 
always  be  accompanied  by  their  pedagogues. 

While  we  are  looking  round  we  can  hear  the  roar  of 
the  wild  beasts,  which  are  kept  in  great  caves  under  the 
pavement  of  the  arena;  and  sometimes  we  see  their  fierce 
glaring  faces  through  the  arched  doors  with  which  the 
walls  of  the  podium  were  pierced.  They  are  now  pro- 
tected by  poi'tcullises,  which  later  will  be  drawn  up  by 
cords  to  let  the  beasts  into  the  arena,  and  these,  which 
may  be  seen  raging  and  roaring  behind  them  now,  will 
have  to  fight  for  their  lives  to-day. 

The  arena  where  the  combats  will  take  place  is  sunken 
from  13  to  15  feet  below  the  lowest  range  of  seats,  and  is 
fenced  around  with  wooden  rollers  turning  in  their  sock- 
ets, and  placed  horizontally  against  the  wall,  S3  as  to 
revolve  under  any  wild  beast,  in  case  he  should  attempt 
to  reach  the  audience  by  leaping  over  the  boundary  wall. 
For  public  security,  all  around  the  arena  are  the  euripi, 
or  ditches,  built  by  Caesar,  and  flooded,  so  as  to  protect 
the  spectators  against  the  attacks  of  elephants,  which  are 
supposed  to  be  afraid  of  water.  The  floor  of  the  arena 
originally  was  strewn  with  yellow  sand  (and  from  this  its 
name  was  derived),  so  as  to  afford  a  sure  footing  to  the 
gladiators  ;  but  Caligula  afterwards  substituted  borax,  and 
Nero  added  to  the  borax  the  splendid  red  of  Cinabar, 
with  which  it  now  is  covered.  Underneath  this  is  a  solid 
pavement  of  stones  closely  cemented  so  as  to  hold  water ; 
and  when  the  naumachice  or  naval  battles  are  given,  there 
are  pipes  to  flood  it,  so  as  to  form  an  artificial  lake  on 
which  galleys  may  float.  Near  the  northern  entrance 


250  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

you  will  see  a  flight  of  broad  stairs,  tlirough  which  great 
machines  are  sometimes  introduced  into  the  arena. 

The  air  is  filled  with  perfumes  of  saffron  infused  in 
wine,  and  balsams,  and  costly  tinctures,  and  essences, 
which  are  carried  over  the  building  in  concealed  conduits, 
and  ooze  out  over  the  statues  through  minute  orifices,  or 
scatter  their  spray  into  the  air.  Lucan,  you  remember, 
describes  this  — 

"  When  mighty  Rome's  spectators  meet 
In  the  full  theatre's  capacious  seat, 
At  once  by  secret  pipes  and  channels  fed, 
Rich  tinctures  gush  from  every  antique  head  — 
At  once  ten  thousand  saffron  currents  flow, 
And  rain  their  odours  on  the  crowd  below."  1 

There  is  now  a  sudden  stir  among  the  people,  and  the 
amphitheatre  resounds  with  the  cry  of  " Ave  Imperator" 
as  the  emperor  in  his  purple  robes,  surrounded  by  his 
lictors  and  imperial  guard,  enters  and  takes  his  seat  on 
the  elevated  chair  called  the  suggestus  or  cubiculum, 
opposite  to  the  main  entrance.  Then  sound  the  trumpets, 
and  the  gladiators  who  are  to  fight  to-day  enter  the  arena 
in  a  long  procession,  and  make  the  tour  of  the  whole 
amphitheatre.  They  are  then  matched  in  pairs,  and  their 
swords  are  examined  by  the  editor,  and  even  by  the 
emperor,  to  see  if  they  are  sharp  and  in  good  condition. 
After  this  comes  a  prcelusio  or  sham  battle  with  modern 
swords  and  spears.  There  is  the  Retiarius  clothed  in  a 
short  tunic,  his  head,  breast,  and  legs  uncovered,  and  a 
net  upon  his  arm  with  which  he  will  strive  to  entangle  his 
adversary  ere  he  dispatches  him  with  that  sharp  trident 
at  his  side.  Near  him  is  his  usual  adversary,  the  Myr- 
millo,  armed  with  his  oblong  curving  shield  and  long 
dagger,  and  wearing  on  his  head  the  helmet  with  the 
sign  of  the  fish  (/lop/Avpo?),  from  which  he  derives  his 
name.  There,  too,  is  the  Laqueator  with  his  noose  ;  the 
Andabata  with  his  close  helmet,  through  which  there  are 
no  eyeholes,  and  who  will  fight  blindfold ;  and  all  the 
other  gladiators,  with  the  Lanistce  who  accompany  them 
to  see  that  all  is  fair,  and  to  excite  their  spirit  in  the  com- 
1  Rowe's  translation,  Lucan,  Book  ix. 


THE  COLOSSEUM.  251 

bat.  They  are  now  matched  and  ready.  The  praihisio  is 
over ;  the  trumpet  again  sounds,  and  the  first  on  the  list 
advance  to  salute  the  emperor  before  engaging  in  their 
desperate  contest. 

In  the  museum  of  San  Giovanni  in  Laterano  is  a  large 
mosaic  pavement,  taken  from  the  Baths  of  Caracalla,  on 
which  are  represented  colossal  heads  and  figures  of  some 
of  the  most  celebrated  gladiators  of  the  day.  Their 
brutal  and  bestial  physiognomies,  their  huge,  over-devel- 
oped muscles  and  Atlantean  shoulders,  their  low,  flat 
foreheads  and  noses,  are  hideous  to  behold,  and  give  one 
a  more  fearful  and  living  notion  of  the  horror  of  those 
bloody  games  to  which  they  were  trained,  than  any 
description  in  words  could  convey.  They  make  one 
believe  that  of  all  animals  none  can  be  made  so  brutal  as 
man.  It  is  very  probable  that  some  of  these  were  the 
favorite  gladiators  of  Caracalla,  and  made  a  part  of  the 
imperial  retinue.  They  completely  throw  into  the  shade 
all  our  modern  prize-fighters.  Deaf  Burke,  Heenan,  and 
Tom  Sayers  could  not  hold  a  candle  to  any  of  them. 

The  famous  picture  of  Gerome,  the  French  artist,  gives 
one  a  vivid  notion  of  what  the  spectacle  in  the  Colosseum 
was  at  this  moment.  The  fat,  brutal,  overfed  figure  of 
Domitian  is  seen  above  in  the  imperial  chair,  and  in  the 
arena  below  a  little  group  of  gladiators  is  pausing  before 
him  to  salute  him  with  their  accustomed  speech,  —  "A ve, 
Imperator,  morituri  te  salutant ! "  The  benches  are 
crowded  row  above  row  with  spectators,  eager  for  the 
struggle  that  is  to  take  place  between  the  new  combatants. 
They  have  already  forgotten  the  last,  and  heed  not  the 
dead  bodies  of  man  and  beast,  that  slaves  are  now  drag- 
ging out  of  the  arena  with  grappling-irons.  A  soft  light, 
filtering  through  the  huge  tent-like  velarium  overhead, 
illumines  the  vast  circle  of  the  amphitheatre.  Thousands 
of  eager  eyes  are  fixed  on  the  little  band,  who  now  only 
wait  the  imperial  nod  to  join  battle,  and  a  murmurous  war 
of  impatience  and  delight  seems  to  be  sounding  like  the 
sea  over  the  vast  assembly.  Looking  at  this  picture,  one 
can  easily  imagine  the  terrible  excitement  of  a  gladiatorial 
show,  when  100,000  hearts  were  beating  with  the  comba- 


252  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

tants,  and  screams  of  rage  or  triumph  saluted  the  blows 
that  drank  blood,  or  yelled  his  fate  to  the  wretched  victim 
as  he  sank  in  the  arena,  and  the  bencbes  swam  before 
him.  Or  take,  to  aid  the  imagination,  the  graphic  and 
vigorous  description  of  this  scene  given  by  Amphilochius, 
in  an  epistle  in  verse,  to  Seleucus,  and  thus  admirably 
translated  by  Mrs.  Browning : — 

"  They  sit,  unknowing  of  these  agonies, 
Spectators  at  a  show.     When  a  man  flies 
From  a  beast's  jaw,  they  groan,  as  if  at  least 
They  missed  the  ravenous  pleasure,  like  the  beast, 
And  sat  there  vainly.     When  in  the  next  spring 
The  victim  is  attained,  and,  uttering 
The  deep  roar  or  quick  shriek  between  the  fangs, 
Beats  on  the  dust  the  passion  of  his  pangs, — 
All  pity  dieth  in  that  glaring  look. 
They  clap  to  see  the  blood  run  like  a  brook  ; 
They  stare  with  hungry  eyes,  which  tears  should  fill, 
And  cheer  the  beasts  on  with  their  soul's  goodwill; 
And  wish  more  victims  to  their  maw,  and  urge 
And  lash  their  fury,  as  they  shared  the  surge, 
Gnashing  their  teeth,  like  beasts,  on  flesh  of  men." 

The  accounts  of  the  venationes  or  battles  with  wild 
beasts,  and  of  the  gladiatorial  shows,  exhibited  in  the  Col- 
osseum and  elsewhere  by  the  ancient  Romans,  are  so 
amazing  as  to  be  scarcely  credible.  The  people  seem  to 
have  been  insatiable  in  their  thirst  for  these  bloody  games. 
They  were  introduced  originally  by  Lucius  Metellus,  in 
the  year  251  B.  c.,  when  he  brought  into  the  circus  142 
elephants  taken  by  him  in  his  victory  over  the  Carthagin- 
ians. This,  however,  was  scarcely  a  venatio  in  the  sense 
of  later  days,  for  the  elephants  were  killed,  as  it  would 
seem,  only  to  get  rid  of  them.  In  the  year  186  B.  c., 
however,  a  real  venatio  was  introduced  by  M.  Fabius, 
when  lions  and  panthers  were  exhibited.  The  taste  once 
formed,  grew  apace,  and  at  a  venatio  given  by  Pompey, 
in  the  year  55  B.  c.,  upon  the  dedication  of  the  temple 
of  Venus  Victrix,  an  immense  number  of  animals  were 
slaughtered,  among  which  were  six  hundred  lions  and  eigh- 
teen or  twenty  elephants.  Gaetulians  fought  with  the  lat- 
ter, and  drove  them  to  such  fury  with  their  javelins,  that 
the  enraged  beasts  strove  to  break  down  the  railings  of 


THE  COLOSSEUM.  253 

the  arena  and  revenge  themselves  on  the  audience.  Julius 
Caesar  also  distinguished  himself  by  his  magnificent  vena- 
tiones,  one  of  which  lasted  for  five  days.  In  the  course  of 
these  he  introduced  giraffes,  then  for  the  first  time  seen  in 
Europe.  Titus,  as  we  have  seen,  on  the  dedication  of  the 
Colosseum,  exhibited  for  slaughter  no  less  than  the  almost 
incredible  number  of  5000  beasts  ; *  and  in  the  latter  days 
of  Probus  there  is  an  account  of  one  of  these  spectacles, 
where  1000  ostriches,  1000  stags,  1000  boars,  besides  great 
numbers  of  wild  goats,  wild  sheep,  and  other  animals, 
were  destroyed  in  the  circus,  for  the  satisfaction  of  the 
Roman  people.2  So  excited  and  fascinated  did  the  audi- 
ence sometimes  become,  that  they  were  allowed  to  rush 
into  the  arena  among  the  animals  and  slay  as  they  chose. 
On  some  occasions  the  arena  was  planted  with  large  trees 
so  thickly  as  to  resemble  a  forest,  and  among  them  the 
animals  were  turned  loose,  to  be  hunted  down  by  the  peo- 
ple. At  another  show,  Probus  exhibited  700  wild  beasts, 
and  600  gladiators.  These  numbers  seem  monstrous,  and 
almost  lead  one  to  suppose  that  these  beasts  could  not  have 
been  all  introduced  at  once ;  yet  Suetonius  directly  tells 
us  that  Titus  exhibited  5000  beasts  "  uno  die"  on  one  day. 
Indeed,  it  has  been  calculated  that  no  less  than  10,779 
wild  beasts  might  stand  together  in  the  arena.3 

The  slaughter  of  animals  at  these  venationes  was  not  so 
terrible  as  that  which  took  place  at  the  gladiatorial  shows, 
where  human  life  was  brutally  wasted  for  the  amusement 
of  the  people.  These  games  are  said  to  have  originated 
in  an  ancient  Etruscan  custom  of  slaying  captives  and 
slaves  on  the  funeral  pyres  of  the  dead.  They  were  first 
introduced  into  Rome  by  Marcus  and  Decimus  Brutus,  at 
the  funeral  of  their  father  in  the  year  264  B.  c. ;  and  on 
the  death  of  P.  Lucinius  Crassus,  Pontifex  Maximus,  one 
hundred  and  twenty  gladiators  fought  for  three  days,  and 
raw  meat  was  distributed  among  the  people.  These  games 

1  Suetonius,  Life  of  Titus. 

2  These  are  the  numbers  stated  by  Vopiscus,  in  the  Life  of  Pro- 
bus,  p.  233.     Hist.  Aug.  edit.  1519. 

y  T.  P.  Nolli,  et  Maraugoni  delle  Memorie  Sac.  et  Prof,  del  Am- 
phit.  Flav.,  pp.  33,  34. 


254  ROBA  DI  ROUA. 

at  first  were  restricted  to  funerals,  but  they  soon  began  to 
be  exhibited  in  the  amphitheatre  ;  and  under  the  empire 
the  taste  for  them  had  grown  to  such  madness,  that  no 
family  of  wealth  was  without  its  gladiators,  and  no  festi- 
val took  place  without  deadly  contests  between  them. 
Even  while  the  Romans  were  at  their  banquets,  gladiators 
were  introduced  to  fight  with  each  other,  the  guests  look- 
ing on  and  applauding,  as  they  sipped  their  wine,  the  skil- 
ful blows  that  were  followed  by  blood.  Blood  was  the 
only  stimulant  that  roused  the  jaded  apretites  of  a  Ro- 
man, and  gave  a  zest  to  his  pleasures.  In  the  amphithea- 
tres the  numbers  that  fought  together  almost  surpass  be- 
lief. At  the  triumph  of  Trajan  o\  er  the  Dacians  more 
than  ten  thousand  were  exhibited,  and  to  such  an  enor- 
mous number  had  the  gladiators  k creased  under  the  Cae- 
sars, that  sixty  thousand  of  them  are  said  to  have  fallen 
under  Spartacus.  At  last  the  rage  for  these  games  became 
so  great,  that  not  only  freemen,  but  dwaifs,  knights,  sen- 
ators, the  emperor  himself,  and  even  women,  fought  as 
gladiators,  and  esteemed  it  no  dishonor.1  And  such  was 
the  terrible  loss  of  life  in  the  arena  that  Justus  Lipsius 
affirms  that  no  war  was  ever  so  destructive  cf  the  l:uman 
race.  " Credo,  immo  scio,  nullum  helium  tantam  dadem 
vastitiemque  generi  humano  intulis.se  quam  h<>s  ad  vo- 
Itiptatem  ludos."  '2 

At  times  the  arena  of  the  Colosseum  was  flooded  with 
water  deep  enough  to  float  vessels,  and  engagements  took 
place  where  two  miniature  fleets,  laden  with  gladiators, 
fought  together  to  represent  a  naval  battle.  These  nau- 
machice  were  attended  with  an  enormous  loss  of  life,  and 
were  exhibited  on  a  scale  of  great  grandeur  and  magnifi- 
cence. In  one  of  the  sea-fights  exhibited  by  Nero,  sea 
monsters  were  to  be  seen  swimming  round  the  artificial 

1  Suetonius,  in  his  Life  of  Domitian,  says,  "  Venationes  gladiato- 
resque  et  noctibus  ad  Lychnuchos  dedit ;  nee  vironun  modo  pug- 
nas,  sed  et  foeminarum ;  "  and  Tacitus,  in  his  12th  Book,  says, 
"Foeminarum  senatorumque  illustrium  plures  per  areiiam  fcedati 
srant." 

2  Just.  Lips.  Saturn.  Sermon,  lib.  ii.  cap.  3.     Any  one  who  is  de- 
sirous to  know  more  of  the  gladiators  will  find  an  interesting  ac- 
count of  them  in  this  curious  and  learned  essay. 


THE  COLOSSEUM.  255 

lake ;  in  another,  by  Titus,  some  3000  men  fought ;  and 
in  another,  exhibited  by  Domitian,  the  ships  engaged  were 
almost  equal  in  number  to  two  real  fleets.  One  of  the 
most  famous  of  these  naumachice  took  place  in  the  reio-ii 
of  Claudius,  on  the  occasion  of  the  draining  of  Lake  Fu- 
cinus.  In  this  spectacle  the  contest  was  between  vessels 
representing  the  Rhodian  and  Sicilian  fleets,  each  consist- 
ing of  twelve  triremes,  and  having,  as  Tacitus  tells  us, 
10,000  combatants.  These  were  for  the  greater  part  com- 
pulsory gladiators  (sontes),  composed  of  slaves  and  cap- 
tives of  war.  As  they  passed  the  spot  where  the  emperor 
sat,  before  engaging,  they  hailed  him  with  the  cry  of 
"  Ave,  Imperator,  morituri  te  salutant !  "  —  ("  Hail,  Cae- 
sar, those  who  are  to  die  salute  thee !  ")  To  which  he 
responded,  "Avete  vos,"  ("Health  to  you,")  —  a  phrase 
which  they  interpreted  as  an  absolution  by  the  emperor 
from  the  necessity  of  exposing  their  lives  for  his  amuse- 
ment, and  refused  to  engage.  When  a  message  to  this 
effect  was  brought  to  Claudius,  he  sat  for  a  time,  as  Sue- 
tonius tells  us,  in  deep  meditation,  pondering  whether  he 
should  destroy  them  all  by  setting  fire  to  the  vessels  and 
burning  them  alive,  or  should  allow  them  to  kill  each  other 
by  the  sword.  At  last  he  decided  upon  the  latter  course, 
and  descending  from  his  seat,  he  ran  with  a  vacillating 
graceless  gait  (non  sine  fceda  vacillations  disciirrens), 
around  the  borders  of  the  lake,  and,  partly  by  persuasion, 
partly  by  threats,  induced  them  to  fight. 

A  circle  of  beams  was  built  around  a  vast  inclosure,  so 
as  to  prevent  any  of  these  wretched  victims  from  flight, 
and  not  only  all  the  ground  was  guarded  by  large  num- 
bers of  horse  and  infantry,  but  on  the  lake  itself  were 
covered  vessels  laden  with  armed  soldiers  to  keep  order. 
The  spectacle  must  have  been  magnificent.  The  banks  of 
the  lake,  the  hillsides,  and  mountain-tops  were  thronged 
by  an  enormous  crowd,  which  had  flocked  from  Rome 
and  from  all  the  adjacent  country  to  see  the  battle.  The 
emperor,  robed  in  imperial  purple,  presided  over  the 
games,  and  at  his  side  sat  Agrippina,  in  a  golden  mantle. 
In  the  midst  of  the  lake  rose  from  the  water,  by  machin- 
ery, a  silver  triton,  who  blew  a  trumpet  to  sound  the  at- 


256  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

tack.  The  combatants  fought  with  great  bravery,  and  it 
was  not  until  a  large  number  had  been  slain  that  the  sig- 
nal for  separation  was  given. 

Constantino,  and  his  son  Constans,  first  issued  edicts 
prohibiting  these  gladiatorial  shows ;  but  the  appetite  for 
them  had  become  too  craving  to  be  denied  gratification, 
and  notwithstanding  these  prohibitions,  they  continued  to 
flourish,  and  survived  the  ancient  religion  more  than  sev- 
enty years.  St.  Augustine  relates  in  his  *'  Confessions,"  * 
that  about  the  year  390  a  certain  Alipius,  one  of  his  fel- 
low-students, who  had  been  baptized  into  the  Christian 
religion  at  Milan,  came  to  Rome.  Here  he  was  strongly 
urged  by  his  friends  to  go  and  see  the  gladiatorial  shows 
in  the  Colosseum.  At  first  he  refused,  but  finally  yielded 
to  their  persuasions,  and  agreed  to  accompany  them,  re- 
solving internally,  at  the  same  time,  to  keep  his  eyes  shut, 
so  as  not  to  see  the  atrocities  which  he  knew  were  com- 
mitted there.  This  resolution  he  kept  for  some  time,  but 
at  last,  startled  by  a  great  shout  of  the  people  on  the 
occasion  of  some  remarkable  feat  of  skill,  poor  Alipius, 
overcome  by  curiosity,  opened  his  eyes.  It  was  then  all 
over  with  him ;  he  could  not  shut  them  again ;  but  from 
moment  to  moment  his  excitement  grew  fiercer  and  fiercer, 
until  at  last  his  voice  was  heard  shouting  madly  with  the 
rest.  From  that  time  forward,  these  games  became  a  sort 
of  insanity  in  him,  and  he  not  only  returned  to  them  con- 
stantly, but  exhorted  everybody  he  knew  to  accompany 
him.  "  Clamavit,  exarsit,  abstulit  secum  insaniam  qua 
stimularetur  redire  et  alias  trahens."  This  story,  related 
by  St.  Augustine,  clearly  shows  that  the  gladiatorial  games 
continued  in  his  time  ;  and  the  verses  of  Prudentius, 
written  against  Symmachus,  the  prefect  of  Rome,  also 
prove  that  they  existed  in  the  time  of  the  emperors  Va- 
lentianus,  Theodosius,  and  Arcadius. 

On  the  Kalends  of  January,  in  the  year  404,  a  remark- 
able incident  occurred  in  the  Colosseum  on  the  occasion 
of  a  gladiatorial  show,  which  is  recorded  by  Theodoret 
and  Cassiodorus.2  While,  in  the  presence  of  an  immense 

1  Ch.  viii.  lib.  6. 

2  Theod.  Hist.  Eccles.,  cap.  xxiv.  lib.  5.    Cassiod.  Ix.  c.  11.    See 


THE   COLOSSEUM.  257 

crowd  of  spectators,  the  gladiators  were  fighting  in  the 
arena,  a  monkish  figure,  clothed  in  the  dress  of  his  order, 
was  suddenly  seen  to  rush  into  the  midst  of  the  comba- 
tants, and  with  loud  prayer  and  excited  gesture  endeavor 
to  separate  them.  This  was  an  Eastern  monk,  named 
Teleinachus  or  Almachius  (for  such  is  the  chance  of  fame, 
that  his  name  is  not  accurately  recorded),  who  had  trav- 
elled from  the  East  with  the  express  design  of  bearing  his 
testimony  against  these  unchristian  games,  and  sacrificing 
his  life,  if  necessary,  to  obtain  their  abolition.  The  Prae- 
tor Alybius,  however,  who  was  passionately  attached  to 
them,  indignant  at  the  interruption,  and  excited  by  the 
wild  cries  of  the  audience,  instantly  ordered  the  gladiators 
to  cut  the  intruder  down,  and  Telemachus  paid  the  forfeit 
of  his  life  for  his  heroic  courage.  But  the  crown  and  the 
palm  of  martyrdom  were  given  him,  and  he  was  not  only 
raised  to  a  place  in  the  calendar  among  the  saints,  but  ac- 
complished in  a  measure  the  great  object  for  which  he  had 
sacrificed  himself  ;  for,  struck  with  the  grandeur  and  just- 
ness of  the  courageous  protest  which  he  had  sealed  with 
his  blood,  the  emperor  Honorius  abolished  the  gladiato- 
rial games,  and  from  that  time  forward  no  gladiator  has 
fought  in  the  Colosseum  against  another  gladiator. 

Combats  with  wild  beasts  still  however  continued,  as  is 
plain  from  rescripts  of  Honorius  and  Theodosius,  ordain- 
ing that  no  one  not  specially  appointed  by  the  imperial 
ministers  should  have  the  right  to  hunt  wild  beasts  to  se- 
cure them  for  the  public  games,  but  should  only  be  al- 
lowed to  kill  them  in  self-defence  or  in  defence  of  the 
country.  Those  venationes  in  the  Colosseum  continued 
down  to  the  death  of  Theodoric,  in  526,  when  they  fell 
into  disuse,  and  the  edict  of  Justinian  absolutely  abolished 
them. 

Up  to  this  period  there  is  every  reason  to  suppose  that 
the  Colosseum  was  in  perfect  preservation.  Cassiodorus, 
who  describes  the  games  held  there  in  the  time  of  Theo- 
doric, makes  no  mention  of  any  injury,  as  he  certainly 

also  Justus  Lipsins,  Saturn.  Serm.,  lib.  ii.  cap.  til.     Baronius  ad 
Ann.,  et  in  Notis  ad  Martyrol.  Rom.,  1  Jan.     Augustin.  Confess., 
lib.  vi.  cap.  8 ;  lib.  i.  cap.  12. 
17 


258  ROBA  Dl  ROMA. 

would  have  done  had  there  been  any  of  importance.1 
Heretofore  it  had  been  kept  in  repair  to  serve  for  the  ex- 
hibition of  gladiatorial  shows,  but  the  edict  of  Justinian, 
prohibiting  all  games  therein,  rendered  it  useless  as  an 
amphitheatre  and  sealed  its  fate.  Thenceforward  it  was 
abandoned  to  the  assaults  of  time  and  weather,  and  to  the 
caprice  of  man ;  and  their  injuries  were  never  repaired. 
The  earthquakes  and  floods  of  the  seventh  century  un- 
doubtedly shook  it  and  destroyed  it  partially.  Barbarians 
at  home  and  from  abroad  preyed  upon  it,  boring  it  for  its 
metal  clamps,  plundering  it  of  every  article  of  value,  de- 
facing its  architecture,  and  despoiling  it  of  its  ornaments 
of  silver  and  gold  as  well  as  of  its  poorer  metals.  In  al- 
most every  one  of  its  blocks  of  travertine  is  now  to  be  seen 
a  rudely  excavated  hole,  by  which  the  ingenuity  of  anti- 
quarians has  been  greatly  exercised ;  but  it  now  seems  to 
be  agreed  on  all  sides  that  these  holes  were  made  for  the 
purpose  of  extracting  the  iron  bolts  with  which  the  stones 
were  originally  clamped  together.  Still,  it  would  seem  to 
have  been  entire,  or  nearly  so,  as  late  as  the  beginning  of 
the  eighth  century,  when  the  Anglo-Saxons  visited  Rome, 
and,  gazing  at  it  with  feelings  of  awe  and  admiration,  broke 
forth  into  the  enthusiastic  speech  recorded  by  the  vener- 
able Bede  :  "  Quamdiu  stabit  Colysceus,  stab  it  et  Roma. 
Quando  cadet  Colysceus,  cadet  et  Roma.  Quando  cadet 
Roma,  cadet  et  mundus."  Thus  Englished  by  Byron  :  — 

"While  stands  the  Coliseum,  Rome  shall  stand! 
When  falls  the  Coliseum,  Rome  shall  fall ! 
And  when  Rome  falls  —  the  -world !  " 

From  this  time  forward  exposed  to  tumult,  battle,  and 
changes  of  ownership,  now  occupied  as  a  fortress  by  the 
Frangipani,  now  by  the  Annibaldi,  and  wrested  from  both 
in  turn  by  pope  and  emperor,  it  fell  rapidly  into  ruin,  and 
its  walls  began  to  crumble  and  fall  into  decay.  As  early 
as  the  year  1362,  the  Bishop  of  Orvieto,  legate  to  Pope 
Urban  V.,  wrote  to  inform  the  Pontiff  that  the  stones  of 

1  Cassiod.,  lib.  v.  Var.  Ep.  24.  See  also  Pietro  Angelo  Barges, 
in  his  learned  Epistola  de  Privatorum  .<Edif.  Urbis.  Everaoribus. 
Graevius,  Antiq.  Rom.,  torn.  4. 


THE  COLOSSEUM,  259 

the  Colosseum  had  been  offered  for  sale,  but  no  one  had 
proposed  to  purchase  them  save  the  Frangipani  family, 
who  wanted  them  to  build  a  palace.  The  government  at 
this  period,  not  placing  any  value  on  the  Colosseum  as  a 
memorial  of  antiquity,  but  regarding  it  merely  as  a  quarry 
of  stone,  were  in  the  habit  of  granting  permissions  to  ex- 
cavate travertine  therefrom  to  any  princely  family  who 
could  afford  to  pay  for  them.  Donatus  tells  us  that  Paul 
II.  (1464-1471)  used  the  blocks  of  travertine  taken  from 
the  ruins  of  the  Colosseum  to  build  his  palace  of  San 
Marco  ;  and  a  monstrous  hole  was  made  in  it  when  the 
great  Farnese  Palace  was  built  out  of  its  spoils.1 

Nor  was  this  the  worst  treatment  which  this  noble  struc- 
ture was  to  suffer.  Not  only  were  blocks  of  travertine  re- 
moved, but  all  the  marble  was  torn  down  and  burnt  into 
lime  ;  2  and  to  such  an  extent  were  the  spoliations  of  this 
period  carried  on,  as  to  render  it  only  surprising  that  any- 
thing now  remains.  This  was  not  the  only  building  thus 
barbarously  served.  Poggius  relates  that,  when  he  first 
went  to  Rome,  the  Temple  of  Concord  was  perfect  —  "  opere 
marmoreo  admodum  specioso" —  but  that  soon  after,  the 
whole  building,  with  its  splendid  marble  portico,  was  pulled 
down  and  burnt  for  lime.  The  marble  of  the  tomb  of 
Cecilia  Metella  met  the  same  sad  fate  ;  and  Eneas  Sylvius, 
who  afterwards  became  Pope  under  the  title  of  Pius  II., 
in  an  epigram  written  by  him,  and  preserved  by  Mabillon, 
expresses  a  fear  that  these  barbarous  practices  will  finally 
lead  to  the  destruction  of  all  the  ancient  monuments :  — 

"  Oblectat  me  Roma  tuas  spectare  ruinas 

Ex  cu jus  lapsa  gloria  prisca  patet  — 
Sed  tuus  hie  populus  muris  defossa  vetustis 

Calceo  in  obsequium  marmora  dura  coquit. 
Impia  tercentum  si  sic  gens  egerit  annos 

Nullum  hie  indicium  nobilitatis  erit." 

Sadly  enough,  the  mausoleum  of  the  great  Carian  king, 

1  "  Per  fabbricare  il  Palazzo  Farnese  gran  guasto  diede  al  Anfi- 
teatro  di  Tito,"  says  Muratori,  in  his  Annals  ad  An.  1549,  torn.  x. 
p.  335.     See  also  Me"moires  de  1'Acad.  des  Inscrip.,  torn,  xxviii. 
p.  585. 

2  "Ob  stultitiam  Romanorum  majori  ex  parte  ad  calcem  redac- 
tam,"  says  Poggius,  in  his  Essay  De  Variet.  Fortun. 


260  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

Mausolus,  one  of  the  wonders  of  the  ancient  world,  suf- 
fered the  same  fate.  Not  only  the  marble  of  the  archi- 
tecture, the  massive  stairs,  the  splendid  columns,  but  the 
masterpieces  of  Greek  sculpture,  wrought  by  Scopas  and 
his  scholars,  were  broken  to  pieces  and  burnt  into  lime  by 
the  Knights  of  St.  John,  to  build  the  castle  of  Budrum.1 

Marangoni  tells  us  that  there  was  a  sale  of  the  stones  of 
the  Colosseum  in  1531,  and  a  century  afterwards  some  of 
them  were  used  in  the  building  of  the  Campidoglio.  Even 
at  the  very  period  of  the  revival  of  the  arts  it  would  thus 
seem  that  no  regard  was  paid  to  the  preservation  of  the 
ancient  temples.  With  the  blocks  of  these  ruins  Michael 
Angelo  built  the  Farnese  Palace  and  the  Campidoglio,  and 
even  he  seems  not  to  have  protested  against  this  barbarity. 
Urban  VIII.  also  built,  out  of  the  quarry  of  the  Colosseum, 
the  facade  of  the  Barberini  Palace,  tore  the  brass  plates 
from  the  Pantheon  to  build  the  hideous  baldacchino  of  St. 
Peter's,  and  threatened  to  serve  the  remains  of  the  tomb 
of  Cecilia  Metella  in  like  manner.  But  the  sins  of  Urban 
VIII.  were  small  in  comparison  to  those  of  the  Farnese 
Pope.  He  spared  nothing,  levying  his  exactions  not  only 
upon  the  Colosseum,  but  also  upon  the  arch  of  Titus,  the 
baths  of  Constantine  and  Caracalla,  the  forum  of  Trajan, 
the  temple  of  Antoninus  and  Faustina,  the  theatre  of  Mar- 
cellus,  and  other  buildings,  stripping  them  ruthlessly  of 
their  precious  marbles  and  splendid  columns.  The  ac- 
counts of  the  apostolic  chamber  show  a  sum  of  no  less 
than  7,317,888  scudi  expended  between  1541  and  1549  on 
the  Palazzo  del  Campo  dei  Fiori.  Truly,  as  Gibbon  says, 
"  every  traveller  who  views  the  Farnese  Palace  may  curse 
the  sacrilege  and  luxury  of  these  upstart  princes." 

To  check  these  abuses,  Eugenius  IV.  is  said  to  have  sur- 
rounded the  Colosseum  with  a  wall,  and  by  a  charter  long 

1  That  the  last  fragments  of  these  noble  works  have  been  saved 
is  due  to  the  energy  and  spirit  of  Mr.  Charles  T.  Newton,  who  has 
thus  rendered  a  valuable  service,  not  only  to  his  own  country,  but 
to  the  universal  republic  of  art.  Mr.  Newton  has  recently  pub- 
lished a  history  of  his  discoveries  at  Halicarnassus,  Cnidus,  and 
Branchidae,  with  extensive  illustrations,  which  is  most  interesting 
and  instructive. 


THE  COLOSSEUM.  '261 

extant,  to  have  granted  the  grounds  and  edifice  to  the 
monks  of  a  neighboring  convent.  But  if  this  wall  ever 
existed,  which  seems  rather  doubtful,  it  was  overthrown 
after  his  death  in  a  tumult  of  the  populace,  and  no  traces 
of  it  now  remain.1 

In  1585,  Sextus  V.  endeavored  at  once  to  check  this 
barbarism  of  destruction  and  to  utilize  the  Colosseum  by 
establishing  in  it  a  woollen  manufactory.  For  many  years 
it  had  served  as  the  arena  for  all  sorts  of  fairs,  and  pos- 
sibly this  fact  suggested  the  notion  of  making  it  subser- 
vient to  some  practical  use.  But  after  spending  on  the 
project  15,000  scudi,  he  abandoned  it  as  impracticable. 
Let  us  not  grieve  ;  for  from  all  that  can  be  collected  of 
the  plan  from  the  designs  of  the  architect,  Fontana,  it  was 
the  Pope's  intention  to  wall  up  the  arches  and  arcades, 
which  would  simply  have  ruined  the  building.  A  century 
later,  Clement  XI.  revived  the  project,  and  went  so  far  as 
to  inclose  the  lower  arcades  and  establish  a  manufactory 
of  saltpetre.  But  this  scheme,  also,  fell  through. 

But  better  days  were  now  coming.  In  the  year  of  the 
Jubilee,  1675,  Clement  X.  set  apart  the  whole  building  to 
the  worship  of  the  martyrs.  And  on  the  llth  February, 
1742,  Benedict  XIV.  again  consecrated  the  Colosseum  to 
the  memory  of  the  Christian  martyrs  who  had  suffered 
there,  and  made  it  a  church  in  1744.  He  then  erected 
the  cross  in  the  centre  of  the  arena,  repaired  the  altars 
established  by  Clement  XI.,  and  cleared  the  place  of  the 
robbers  and  prostitutes  by  which  it  had  previously  been 
haunted.  This  act  was  the  salvation  of  the  Colosseum. 
Taken  into  the  fold  of  the  Church,  it  was  now  cared  for, 
and  from  this  time  forward  every  pains  was  used  to  pre- 
serve it,  and  the  injuries  of  time  have  been  constantly  re- 
paired. Parts  of  it,  however,  were  in  a  very  dangerous 
condition,  and  in  the  year  1813  one  of  the  arches  fell  to 
the  ground.  To  prevent  the  tottering  fragments  around 

1  Gibbon,  who  makes  this  statement,  founds  it  upon  Montf  a«c,on, 
who  received  it  from  Flaminius  Vacca,  who  lived  a  century  after 
Eug-enius,  and  reported  the  fact  on  the  testimony  of  the  Olivetan 
monks  of  Sta.  Maria  Nuova.  But  Marangoni  states  that,  on  exam- 
ining their  archives,  he  found  in  them  no  record  of  such  a  fact. 


262  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

it  from  falling,  the  wall  supporting  the  northwest  angle 
was  built  by  Pius  VII.,  and  his  successors  have  faithfully 
lent  their  aid  to  the  preservation  of  the  building.  It  is 
said  that  the  trembling  stones  were  so  threatening  that 
convicts  under  sentence  of  death  and  imprisonment  for 
life  were  employed  to  build  up  this  wall,  with  the  promise 
of  pardon  if  they  succeeded ;  but  whether  this  statement 
be  actually  true  I  cannot  affirm. 

Pius  IX.  has  also  made  very  material  restorations,  and 
perhaps  in  some  cases  carried  them  too  far,  thus  detract- 
ing from  the  antique  character  of  the  ruins.  He  has  con- 
structed a  gigantic  buttress  at  the  southern  end,  to  support 
the  lofty  wall  which  threatened  to  fall ;  and  some  of  the 
arches  and  interior  walls  he  has  entirely  rebuilt. 

Since  the  French  have  taken  possession  of  Rome  they 
have  placed  a  nightly  guard  at  the  Colosseum  with  the 
object  of  keeping  it  clear  of  robbers  and  thieves,  who  are 
said  to  infest  it,  and  no  one  now  is  allowed  to  pass  without 
a  special  permission.  To  ensure  safety  in  the  Colosseum 
by  a  police  is  praiseworthy,  but  strictly  to  require  of  all 
strangers  and  under  all  circumstances  a  special  permit,  is 
annoying  and  unnecessary.  Tempted  by  the  beauty  of 
the  full  moon,  if  you  stroll  down  to  the  Colosseum  forget- 
ful of  this  regulation,  and  thinking  to  pass  a  pleasant  half- 
hour  in  its  arena,  you  are  suddenly  stopped  at  the  entrance 
by  the  French  sentinel,  and  all  your  romantic  hopes  are 
dashed  by  three  interrogative  words :  "  Votre  permis, 
Monsieur  ?  "  Vainly  you  protest  that  you  are  strangers 
and  not  robbers,  that  your  objects  are  most  peaceful,  and 
that  such  rules  cannot  apply  to  you.  You  have  only  the 
short  irritating  rejoinder,  "  On  tie  peut  pas  passer,  sans 
un  permis,"  —  and  to  this  the  sentinel  will  stick  with  sul- 
len obstinacy.  No  offers  of  money  or  cigars,  no  bland 
words,  no  expressions  of  disappointment,  no  reasonings 
avail  to  move  him.  He  gives  you  no  sympathy,  curtly 
prohibits  your  coming  in,  and  leaves  you  to  console  your- 
self as  you  can  —  while  he  marches  up  and  down  under 
the  dark  arches.  Of  course  you  go  away  irritated  and 
vexed,  and  in  a  mood  crossly  to  criticise  the  French  and 
their  occupation  of  Rome.  You  become  very  unreason- 


THE   COLOSSEUM.  263 

able,  and  do  not  perceive  that,  without  this  occupation,  the 
"  legitimate  influence  of  France,"  whatever  that  may  hap- 
pen to  be,  could  not  be  sustained  in  the  Eternal  City  — 
that  it  is  better  to  have  an  annoying  police  than  to  run  the 
risk  of  being  assaulted  and  robbed  in  the  Colosseum,  — 
that  among  so  bloodthirsty  and  violent  a  people,  as  the 
Romans  are  said  to  be,  it  would  be  impossible  for  your  life 
and  property  to  be  safe  in  the  hands  only  of  a  Roman 
police,  —  and  that  the  Romans  are  very  unreasonable  in 
their  dislike  of  the  French,  who  have  done  so  much  for 
their  civilization  by  introducing  plate-glass  in  some  of  the 
shops  in  the  Condotti  and  Corso,  importing  their  hats, 
bonnets,  and  crinoline  to  take  the  place  of  the  foolish  old 
costumes  which  used  to  be  seen  in  the  streets,  opening  a 
number  of  little  wine  shops,  and  new  cafes ;  amusing  the 
promenaders  on  the  Pincio  by  their  bands,  enlivening  the 
streets  by  their  soldiers,  playing  incessantly  on  that  charm- 
ing instrument,  the  drum,  along  the  Via  Sacra  and  around 
the  Palace  of  the  CaBsars,  and  more  than  this,  by  keeping 
the  city  safe  with  their  nightly  patrol  of  soldiers.  If  the 
Emperor  have  not  fulfilled  the  pledges  contained  in  the 
famous  letter  to  Edgar  Ney,  the  French  commandant  has 
given  many  receptions  and  balls,  where  one  could  have  the 
privilege  of  meeting  a  number  of  French  officers,  whom 
one  might  not  otherwise  have  met  in  society.  The  French, 
it  is  true,  have  not  learned  to  speak  Italian,  but  is  it  no 
advantage  that  they  have  taught  the  Italians  to  speak 
very  bad  French  ?  Surely  the  Romans  are  no  longer  open 
to  the  reproach  made  to  them  by  a  French  officer  a  few 
years  ago,  who  said,  "  Comme  ils  sont  betes,  ces  Italiens, 
il  y  a  dix  ans  que  nous  sommes  ici,  et  Us  ne  savent  pas 
encore  parler  Frangais."  l 

After  the  edict  of  Justinian,  prohibiting  the  celebration 
of  any  games,  either  of  gladiators  or  of  wild  beasts,  these 
exhibitions  fell  into  discredit,  and  for  a  long  period  the 
Colosseum  was  entirely  abandoned.  But  from  time  to 
time,  in  succeeding  centuries,  efforts  were  made  to  revive 
the  exhibitions  of  wild  beasts  in  the  arena,  and  bull-fights 

1  The  French  have  now  gone  (1870),  but  the  passage  may  stand 
as  a  record  of  the  past. 


264  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

were  not  unfrequent.  The  last  of  these  seems  to  have 
taken  place  in  the  year  1332,  and  Ludovico  di  Bonconte 
Monaldeschi  has  quaintly  described  it  in  his  annals  of  the 
period,  printed  in  the  appendix  to  the  great  work  of 
Muratori.1  Though  his  narrative  is  probably  taken  from 
the  account  of  others  rather  than  from  his  own  memory, 
he  having  been  only  five  years  of  age  when  the  exhibition 
took  place,  yet  it  bears  the  stamp  of  truth  deeply  impressed 
on  it  in  every  part. 

"  This  festival  took  place,"  he  says,  "  on  the  3d  of 
November.  All  the  matrons  of  Rome  were  present  stand- 
ing in  the  balconies,  which  were  lined  with  scai-let.  There 
was  the  beautiful  Savella  Orsini  and  two  others  of  her 
family ;  and  there  was  the  Donne  Colonnesi,  though  La 
Giovane  could  not  be  present  because  she  had  broken  her 
foot  in  the  garden  of  the  tower  of  Nero ;  and  there  was 
also  there  the  beautiful  Jacova  di  Vico,  or  Rovere ;  and 
these  ladies  led  all  the  beautiful  women  of  Rome  :  the 
Rovere  leading  the  Trasteverine  women,  the  Orsini  those 
of  Piazza  Navona  and  San  Pietro,  and  the  Colonnesi  all 
the  rest.  All  the  noble  ladies  were  in  one  circle,  all  the 
ladies  of  lower  rank  in  another,  and  the  combatants  in  a 
third ;  and  the  huntings  were  by  lot,  drawn  by  old  Pietro 
Jacovo  Rossi,  from  St.  Angelo  in  Pescheria.  The  first 
cacciatore  was  a  foreigner  from  Rimini,  named  Galeotto 
Malatesta,  who  was  dressed  in  green,  with  a  rapier  in  his 
hand,  and  on  his  iron  helmet  was  inscribed  this  motto, 
'  Solo  io  com-e  Oratio,'  (I  alone  like  Horatius ;)  and  he 
rushed  forward  to  meet  the  bull,  and  wounded  him  in  the 
left  eye,  so  that  the  bull  took  to  flight.  He  then  gave  the 
beast  a  blow  behind,  and  received  therefor  a  kick  on  his 
knee,  which  knocked  him  over,  but  the  bull  continued  to 
flee  and  did  not  attack  him.  Then,  greatly  excited  (tutto 
infierito),  Cicco  della  Valle  rushed  forth,  dressed  in  half 
black  and  half  white,  and  the  motto  he  carried  on  his 
helmet  was,  '  Io  son  Enea  per  Lavinia,'  (I  am  JEneas  for 
Lavinia  ;)  and  this  he  did  because  the  daughter  of  Messer 
Jovinale,  of  whom  he  was  desperately  enamored,  was 
named  Lavinia.  While  he  was  fighting  valiantly  with  the 
1  Muratori  Script.  Rerum.  Ital.,  torn.  xii.  pp.  535,  536. 


THE   COLOSSEUM.  265 

bull,  another  was  let  in,  which  was  attacked  by  Mezzo 
Stallo,  a  stout  youth  dressed  as  a  negro ;  his  wife  being 
dead,  he  bore  the  motto  '  Cost  sconsolato  vivo,'1  (Thus,  dis- 
consolate I  live  ;)  and  he  bore  himself  bravely  against  the 
bull."  A  crowd  of  other  nobles  also  were  there  with 
various  emblems  and  escutcheons,  a  number  of  which  are 
given  by  this  old  author,  —  "  besides  many,"  he  continues, 
"  whom  I  should  weary  to  enumerate.  Each  assaulted 
his  bull,  and  eighteen  of  the  combatants  were  killed  and 
nine  wounded,  while  only  eleven  bulls  were  killed.  Great 
honors  were  paid  to  the  bodies  of  the  dead,  which  were 
carried  to  Sta.  Maria  Maggiore  and  San  Giovanni  in  La- 
terano  to  be  buried.  The  nephew  of  Camillo  Cencio  hav- 
ing been  thrown  down  in  the  crowd,  through  the  fault  of 
the  son  of  Count  Anguillara's  sister,  Cencio  gave  him  a 
blow  on  the  head,  which  instantly  killed  him,  and  a  great 
tumult  ensued.  There  was  a  great  crowd  at  St.  Giovanni 
to  see  the  burial  of  those  who  were  killed  at  the  games." 

During  the  fifteenth  century  it  was  the  custom  from 
time  to  time  to  represent  passion  plays  or  mysteries  on  a 
broad  platform  over  the  Colosseum  steps,  just  above  the 
site  where,  a  century  later,  the  chapel  was  founded. 
Every  Good  Friday  the  death  and  burial  of  our  Saviour 
was  performed  to  an  audience  as  large,  if  we  may  credit 
the  words  of  Pancirolus,1  as  that  which  formerly  attended 
the  antique  games.  This  "  mystery  "  was  in  ottava  rima, 
rudely  composed  in  the  commonest  dialect  of  the  people, 
with  an  intermezzo  of  various  little  airs  which  were  prob- 
ably sung.  Two  examples  of  these  are  to  be  found,  says 
Marangoni,  in  the  library  of  the  Marchese  Alessandro 
Capponi.  The  "  sacra  farsa  "  —  the  Holy  Farce  of  the 
Resurrection  (for  so  Tiraboschi  calls  it.)  2  written  by 
Julian  Dati,  a  Florentine  —  was  also  performed  here. 
These  plays  continued  until  the  reign  of  Paul  III.,  who 
prohibited  them,  apparently  for  no  other  reason  than  that 
they  impeded  him  in  robbing  the  Colosseum  of  marble 
and  stones  for  building. 

1  Tesori  Nascosti.     See  Marangoni,  Mem.  Sac.  etProf.,  p.  59. 

2  Storia  dell.  Litt.  Ital.  vol.  vi.  p.  3 ;  Lib.  iii.  p.  814. 


266  ROBA  Dl  ROMA. 

After  this,  for  more  than  a  century,  there  was  no  public 
amusement  in  the  Colosseum,  saving  for  those  who  em- 
ployed that  time  in  plundering  it.  But  in  1671  permis- 
sion was  granted  by  the  senate  and  Cardinal  Altieri  to 
represent  bull-fights  in  the  arena  for  six  years.  This 
raised  a  great  outcry,  and  Carlo  Tommassi  wrote  a  tract 
to  prove  the  sanctity  of  the  spot,  and  to  urge  the  impro- 
priety of  reinstating  such  barbarous  usages ;  which  so 
affected  the  mind  of  the  pope,  Clement  X.,  that  he  pro- 
hibited them,  and  took  measures  to  prevent  them  by 
blocking  up  the  lower  arches  and  consecrating  the  place. 
In  1714  Clement  XI.  established  the  altars  of  the  Pas- 
sion, and  shortly  after  were  painted  the  pictures  of  Jeru- 
salem and  the  Crucifixion  that  are  now  seen  over  the 
southern  entrance. 

I  have  hitherto  not  spoken  of  the  martyrs  who  perished 
for  their  faith  in  the  Colosseum.  These  are  generally 
supposed  to  have  amounted  to  thousands ;  but  Marangoni, 
who  is  a  careful  man  and  not  disposed  to  exaggerate 
facts,  puts  the  number  of  martyrs  known,  and  not  merely 
conjectured,  to  have  suffered  in  this  arena  at  only  twenty- 
four.  Of  these,  eighteen  were  men,  beginning  with  St. 
Ignatius  and  ending  with  Telemachus ;  and  six  were 
women.  Of  the  latter,  three  —  Sta.  Martina,  Sta.  Italiana, 
and  Sta.  Prisca  —  were  exposed  to  lions,  who,  instead  of 
devouring  them,  licked  their  feet.  And  one,  Sta.  Daria, 
wife  of  St.  Crisanto,  according  to  Marangoni,  "  was  under 
the  vaults  (sotte  le  volte)  of  the  Amphitheatre,  where  her 
chastity  was  defended  by  a  lion."  Da  un  leonefu  difesa 
la  sua  castita} 

Besides  these,  there  were  two  hundred  and  sixty  anony- 
mous soldiers  under  Claudius,  who,  after  digging  an  arena 

1  Leones,  as  Lord  Broughton  suggests,  may,  perhaps,  be  better 
read  lenones,  for  it  is  well  established  that  "  sotte  le  volte'"  was  a 
place  devoted  to  brothels,  where  a  woman  was  more  in  danger  of 
panders  (lenones)  than  of  lions  (leones) ;  and  in  fact  the  very  word 
"  f ornicators "  is  derived  from  "fornices, "  the  places  under  the 
vaults.  Her  chastity  needed  not  the  defence  of  any  one  in  the 
arena,  however  it  might  below  the  vaults  ;  and  the  old  well-known 
proverb  —  Christiani  ad  leones,  virgines  ad  lenones  —  seems  to  favor 
this  view  of  the  martyrdom  of  Sta.  Daria. 


THE   COLOSSEUM.  267 

outside  the  Porta  Salara,  were  killed,  and  placed  among 
the  records  of  the  Christians  as  martyrs.  Doubtless, 
however,  says  Marangoni,  there  were  many  others  besides 
those  mentioned,  whose  names  we  do  not  know,  who  were 
exposed  to  death  under  the  cruel  orders  of  Diocletian,  as 
is  evident  from  the  testimony  of  Tertullian.1 

The  manner  in  which  Christian  martyrs  were  exposed 
to  the  wild  beasts  is  shown  by  some  small  rilievi  in  bronze 
found  in  the  Catacombs,  where  the  lions  are  represented 
as  chained  to  a  pilaster,  and  the  martyrs  lie  naked  and 
unarmed  at  their  feet.  It  seems  also  that  the  sacrifice  of 
the  Christians  generally  ended  the  day's  sport.  When 
the  other  shows  were  over,  the  condemned  Christians 
were  brought  into  the  arena  through  files  of  the  hunters 
of  the  wild  beasts,  who  beat  them  with  rods  as  they 
passed.  Some  of  the  women  were  stripped  and  exposed 
in  nets,  and  some  were  tortured  because  they  would  not 
assume  the  ceremonial  robes  worn  in  the  worship  of 
the  pagan  divinities.  Every  refinement  of  cruelty  was 
undoubtedly  practised  upon  a  sect  who  were  supposed  to 
worship  an  ass,  and  who  were  thought  to  plot  against  the 
state.  It  would  seem,  however,  that  the  Christians,  so 
long  as  they  did  not  meddle  with  political  questions,  but 
confined  themselves  to  their  religious  doctrines  and  duties, 
were  left  unmolested.  In  Rome  all  creeds  were  free  — 
and  any  one  might  with  complete  impunity  worship  Isis, 
Bacchus,  Moses,  Apollonius,  Mythras,  Simon  of  Gitton, 
or  any  other  divinity  or  prophet.  But  the  Christians  did 
not  confine  themselves  within  their  sphere  of  worship  and 
faith  —  they  were  aggressive,  and  sought  to  turn  into 
ridicule  and  contempt  the  religion  of  the  state,  if  not  the 
state  itself.  It  was  this  that  led  to  their  persecution. 
They  deemed  it  to  be  their  duty  to  overthrow  this  religion 
and  to  defame  it,  believing  it  to  be  degrading  and  wicked. 
But  it  should  always  be  borne  in  mind  that  their  martyr- 
dom in  these  ancient  days  resulted  from  their  aggressive- 
ness and  not  from  the  intolerance  and  bigotry  of  the  Ro- 
mans. Undoubtedly  many  were  falsely  accused,  and  many 

1  Cap.  42,  Apologia.  See  also  Arringhi  Roma  Setter,  lib.  ii.  cap. 
1 ;  torn.  i.  p.  197,  edit.  1651. 


268  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

who  were  innocent  suffered ;  but  the  accusation  was  of 
treason  against  the  state,  and  so  many  Christians  had  at- 
tempted its  overthrow,  that,  at  last,  to  be  a  Christian  was 
to  be  a  suspected  traitor. 

When  we  speak  with  horror  of  that  ferocious  spirit 
which  dragged  to  torture  and  death  the  innocent  and  vir- 
tuous, merely  because  they  differed  from  the  religious 
dogma  of  the  day,  and  refused  to  bow  down  before  the 
pagan  gods,  we  speak  without  book.  This  was  not  the 
ground  of  accusation,  but  the  test  of  loyalty,  —  and  let  us 
also  remember  that  the  Catholic  Church  in  later  days, 
when  it  had  attained  a  power  as  extensive  as  that  exer- 
cised by  Imperial  Rome,  was  guilty  of  fouler  wrong  and 
more  infamous  cruelty,  and  that  the  numbers  of  victims 
that  were  sacrificed  by  the  Inquisition  in  the  single  reign 
of  Philip  II.  outnumber  by  thousands  those  who  perished 
under  the  Roman  emperors.  Nor  let  us  plume  ourselves 
too  much  on  our  religious  tolerance,  even  at  the  present 
day.  The  horrors  of  the  past  would  not,  thank  God !  be 
now  within  the  bounds  of  possibility  ;  but  bigotry  and 
persecution  have  by  no  means  ceased,  and  infidel  and 
atheist  are  words  which  are  widely  and  generally  thrown 
against  those  who  differ  in  their  creed  from  the  estab- 
lished Church. 

Pius  V.  used  to  say  that  whoever  desired  to  obtain  a 
Christian  or  Catholic  relic,  should  take  some  earth  from 
the  arena  of  the  Colosseum,  where  it  had  been  cemented 
by  so  much  holy  blood ;  and  whenever  the  Cardinal 
Ulderico  Carpegna  passed  the  spot,  says  Marangoni,  this 
pious  gentleman  always  stopped  his  carriage,  gratefully  to 
commemorate  the  names  of  the  holy  martyrs  who  had 
suffered  there. 

Such  are  some  of  the  memories  which  haunt  the  crum- 
bled shell  of  the  Colosseum.  After  all  the  bloodshed,  and 
murder,  and  battle,  and  martyrdom,  how  peaceful  and 
tranquil  it  seems !  Above  us  wheel  the  swallows,  that 
build  their  "  procreant  cradles  "  far  up  upon  the  jutting 
frieze  and  buttress  of  the  lofty  walls,  where  the  air  is 
delicate.  There  sound  the  clanging  crows,  flying  blackly 


MIMES  AND  MASKS.  269 

along  when  "night  thickens."  There  flocks  of  doves 
build  and  breed  among  the  ruins  and  sail  out  into  the  blue 
deeps.  All  the  benches  are  draped  with  weeds  and 
grasses,  and  festooned  with  creepers  and  flowers.  Many 
a  strange  and  curious  plant  may  here  be  seen,  peculiar  to 
the  place,  and  these  have  been  recorded  in  a  little  volume 
by  Dr.  Deakin  on  the  "  Flora  of  the  Colosseum."  The 
place  remembers  not  its  ancient  horrors,  as  it  sleeps  in  the 
full  sunlight  of  an  Italian  day,  —  but  when  the  shadows 
of  night  come  on,  and  the  clouds  blacken  above,  and  the 
wind  howls  through  the  empty  galleries  and  arches,  and 
the  storm  comes  down  over  the  Colosseum,  the  clash  of  the 
gladiators  may  still  be  heard,  the  roar  of  the  multitudi- 
nous voices  crying  for  blood  rise  on  the  gale,  and  those 
broken  benches  are  thronged  with  a  fearful  audience  of 
ghosts. 


CHAPTER  X. 

MIMES,    MASKS,   AND   PUPPETS. 

"Andad  con  Dios,  buena  Gente,  y  hazad  vuestra  fiesta,  porque 
desde  muchacho  fui  ajicionado  a  la  Caratula,  y  en  mi  mocedad  se 
ne  ivan  los  ojos  tras  la  Farandula."  — Don  Quixote. 

FROM  the  earliest  times  the  Romans  distinguished  them- 
selves as  Mimi  and  Pantomimi.  These  were  divided 
into  two  distinct  classes :  the  Mimi  being  farcers  who 
declaimed,  while  the  Pantomimi,  as  we  have  seen,  only 
gesticulated.  Some  of  these  characters  still  remain  in 
Italy.  The  Sanniones  are  clearly  our  modern  clowns  of 
the  circus,  with  their  somewhat  doubtful  jokes,  their  ex- 
aggerated grimacing,  and  the  ears  on  their  caps.  The 
Planipedes  in  many  respects  resemble  Harlequin,  and 
particularly  in  their  long  dresses,  shaved  heads,  painted 
faces,  and  coats  of  various  colors.  The  Ithyphalli  and 
Phallophori,  thank  heaven !  have  utterly  disappeared. 
But  Pulcinella  is  a  direct  descendant  of  the  old  and 
famous  family  of  the  Atellance.  If  you  may  trust  Cap- 


270  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

poni,  and  other  learned  Italians  who  have  investigated  his 
origin,  his  pedigree  may  he  clearly  traced  to  these  farcers, 
who  were  the  Ciarlatani  of  Rome  in  the  early  days  of 
Tarquin.  They  were  Oscans,  and  came  from  the  town  of 
Atella,  now  St.  Elpido,  only  five  or  six  miles  from  Naples, 
and  the  veiy  headquarters  of  the  real  Pulcinella.  Thus, 
for  more  than  twenty-four  hundred  years,  he  has  clung  to 
his  native  soil  and  followed  in  the  footsteps  of  his  famous 
ancestor,  Maccus.  If  you  disbelieve  this  pedigree,  Pulci- 
nella will  show  you  his  ancestral  statues  in  bronze  dug  out 
of  Herculaneum,  and  his  ancestral  portraits  on  the  walls 
of  Pompeii ;  and  Capponi,  pointing  out  to  you  their  beaked 
or  chicken  nose,  —  a  family  peculiarity  which  their  de- 
scendant still  retains  in  his  mask,  —  will  explain  that  the 
modern  name  is  merely  a  nickname  derived  therefrom  — 
pullus  being  a  chicken,  and  pullicinus  a  little  chicken, 
and  Pullicinellus  or  Pulcinella,  a  little  chicken-nosed 
fellow.  In  like  manner,  the  word  Ciarlatani  may  be  a 
mere  corruption  of  Atellance. 

These  Atellance  Fabulce,  or  Ludi  Osci,  were  plays  per- 
formed by  the  Oscans  on  planks  and  trestles,  before  the 
invention  of  the  regular  theatres  ;  and  Maccus,  then  primo 
comico,  great  ancestor  to  our  Pulcinella,  from  under  his 
mask  amused  the  ancient  Romans  with  his  wit  and  satire. 
When  these  two  mimes  spoke,  they  grimaced  like  modern 
buffoons,  and  jested  to  the  delight  of  Livy  and  Cicero. 
Their  parts  were  often  woven  into  dramas,  to  which  they 
did  not  properly  belong,  as  Livy  tells  us ;  and  in  this 
respect,  also,  they  performed  precisely  the  part  of  Pulci- 
nella, who  is  a  constant  interloper  in  plays,  in  which  his 
character  is  entirely  interpolated.  Such  was  their  repute, 
that  even  Sylla,  the  bloody  dictator,  is  said  to  have  writ- 
ten plays  for  them ;  and  it  is  quite  clear  that  they  were 
favorites  during  the  days  of  the  Caesars. 

The  well-spring  of  fun  in  Pulcinella  is  Artesian  and 
inexhaustible.  He  will  never  die,  —  never  till  fools  are  no 
more  and  we  are  all  wise  and  wretched.  In  Rome,  as 
well  as  in  Naples,  he  is  a  great  favorite ;  though  to  be 
seen  to  advantage  he  should  be  visited  in  his  native  coun- 
try. In  his  long,  loose,  white  jacket  and  pantaloons,  hia 


MIMES  AND  MASKS.  271 

beaked  mask  covering  the  upper  portion  of  his  whitened 
face,  Pulcinella  is  forever  intriguing,  doctoring,  bringing 
lovers  together,  creating  imbrogli,  and  laughing  at  his 
victims  with  the  utmost  impertinence.  He  Is  always  mar- 
ried, —  his  wife  and  mother-in-law  are  in  a  chronic  state 
of  quarrel,  —  and  his  house  is  a  constant  battlefield  of 
humor  and  absurdity. 

In  one  of  the  plays  of  Pulcinella  he  has  a  struggle  with 
the  devil,  whom  he  catches  at  last  by  the  tail.  This  he 
pulls  at  fiercely,  when,  to  his  great  astonishment,  it  comes 
off,  and  the  father  of  evil  vanishes,  leaving  it  in  his  hands. 
At  first  he  is  dumb  and  confounded  with  amazement,  all 
of  which  is  expressed  by  the  most  extraordinary  grimace. 
Finally,  he  smells  at  the  end  of  it,  and  a  grin  of  satisfac- 
tion widens  his  mouth.  Again  he  smells,  indicating  by 
expressive  pantomime  that  the  odor  is  uncommonly  good. 
At  last  an  idea  seizes  him ;  he  pulls  out  his  knife,  and, 
slicing  off  a  piece  as  if  it  were  a  sausage,  puts  it  into  his 
mouth.  Now  his  delight  knows  no  bounds,  but  with  ab- 
surd expressions  of  satisfaction,  he  continues  to  cut  off 
slice  after  slice,  offering  them  first  to  the  audience,  and 
then,  repenting  of  his  generosity,  slipping  it  into  his  own 
mouth,  until  he  has  eaten  up  the  whole  tail. 

Stenterello,  the  Tuscan  type  of  humor,  is  also  a  favorite 
on  the  Roman  stage,  and  he,  together  with  Pulvinella, 
hold  their  high  quarters  at  the  Capranica  Theatre,  alter- 
nating with  music  and  juggling,  ballet  and  pantomime, 
and  sometimes  with  serious  opera,  tragedy,  and  high 
comedy,  in  delighting  the  crowd  of  Romans.  StentereUo 
is  of  the  illustrious  family  of  the  queues.  His  face  is 
painted  in  streaks,  one  front  tooth  is  wanting  in  his  mouth, 
and  he  wears  the  old  tricornered  hat  and  long-tailed  coat 
and  breeches.  He  is  an  embodiment  in  caricature  of  the 
worst  defects  of  the  Tuscan  character,  and  derives  his 
name  probably  from  his  excessive  parsimony.  The  lower 
Florentines  live  meanly,  are  given  to  saving,  deny  them- 
selves in  the  quantity  and  quality  of  their  food,  and  exist, 
according  to  the  Tuscan  idiom,  "a  stento"  —  and  hence, 
probably,  the  name  of  StentereUo.  This  trait  is  so  well 
established  that  the  almanacs  of  Florence,  circulated 


272  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

among  the  common  people,  contain  advice  not  to  be  thrifty 
and  saving,  but  to  live  more  liberally.  Stenterello,  there- 
fore, on  the  stage,  carries  this  vice  to  its  extreme,  and  by 
his  ludicrous  efforts  at  saving,  convulses  the  audience. 
Another  of  his  characteristics  is  low  cunning.  He  is 
always  wishing  to  many  for  the  sake  of  money,  but 
laughs  at  the  notion  of  love,  —  is  penny- wise  and  pound- 
foolish,  —  will  not  spend  a  paul  in  hand  for  the  hope 
of  a  thousand  in  the  bush,  and  says  to  his  mistress,  "  I 
would  not  leave  you  and  lose  the  marriage  for  —  for  — 
for  '  sette  crazie '  "  (seven  farthings).  He  stirs  the  laughter 
of  the  people,  too,  by  his  filthy  habits ;  puts  his  comb 
and  shoe-brush  into  his  pocket  with  his  cheese,  and  when 
he  hears  his  bride  is  coming  (for  he  is  always  on  the 
point  of  marriage)  he  wipes  his  shoes  with  his  sleeve, 
and  then  polishes  off  his  mouth  and  whiskers  with  it.  Be- 
sides this  he  is  a  great  coward,  and  it  is  a  common  jest 
to  make  a  soldier  of  him.  Nothing  will  rouse  his  cour- 
age but  an  attempt  upon  his  money.  Yet  he  likes  to  set 
other  persons  by  the  ears  and  see  them  fight,  at  which 
he  laughs  uproariously,  but  is  seized  with  a  ludicrous 
terror  when  his  own  turn  comes.  He  often  has  a  servant, 
"  Stoppino"  whom  he  keeps  at  the  starving  point,  and 
whose  name  signifies  a  meagre  thin  taper.  In  the  quality 
of  cowardice  he  resembles  Pulcinella ;  but  our  Nea- 
politan friend  does  not  deny  his  stomach  its  gratification, 
for  the  Lazzarone  is  a  gourmand,  while  the  Florentine 
is  not. 

One  of  the  most  celebrated  of  the  actors  of  Stenterello 
is,  or  rather  was,  Lorenzo  Cannelli ;  but  he  is  now  past 
the  time  of  acting.  When  the  Austrians  took  possession 
of  Tuscany  he  was  so  bitter  in  his  sarcasms  that  he  often 
paid  for  them  by  bastonate.  Nothing,  however,  would 
rule  his  tongue.  The  audience,  just  before  the  last  act, 
used  to  call  him  out  to  improvise  " ottave"  and  after 
walking  up  and  down  the  stage  for  a  few  minutes,  he 
would  pour  forth  with  volubility  verses  full  of  spirit  and 
humor. 

The  old  Fiano  Theatre,  which  was  to  Rome  what  the 
San  Carlino  is  to  Naples,  exists  no  more,  and  the  once 


MIMES  AND  MASKS.  273 

famous  Cassandrino  and  Rugantino  have  disappeared 
with  it.  Cassandrino  was  to  the  Romans  what  Pulcinella 
is  to  the  Neapolitans  and  Stenterello  to  the  Tuscans.  He 
was  dressed  "  alia  Spagnuola,"  in  black,  was  pretentious 
and  boastful,  thought  the  women  were  all  in  love  with 
him,  and  was  constantly  vaunting  his  great  exploits,  that 
had  no  existence  out  of  his  imagination.  But  it  was  for 
his  satire  that  he  was  particularly  noted,  for  the  Koman 
is  by  nature  a  satirist.  His  constant  lampoons  against 
the  government  and  the  priests  bit  so  deeply  that  he  was 
suppressed  by  Gregory  XVI.  After  Pius  IX.  came  to 
the  Papal  throne  he  was  again  permitted  to  act ;  but  the 
French  finally  suppressed  him  when  they  brought  back 
the  Pope  from  Gaeta. 

The  Teatro  Fiano  was  at  the  corner  of  the  Piazza  San 
Lorenzo  in  Lucina  and  the  Corso,  in  the  old  Fiano  Pal- 
ace. Before  the  porfone,  every  night,  stood  a  fellow  with 
a  trumpet,  who  sounded  a  call,  and  cried  out  to  the  pass- 
ers-by to  come  and  buy  their  tickets.  "  Venite,  venite 
tutti,"  he  cried,  "  a  sentire  Cassandrino.  Se  comprate 
biglietti  —  grazie  —  se  non  "  —  here  a  pause,  and  "  acci- 
dente"  was  added  in  a  low  voice. 

Cassandrino  was  a  superior  or  noble  Rugantino,  with 
more  bombast  and  swell  of  pretension,  but  less  menacing 
and  defiant.  One  was  a  satire  on  the  nobility,  and  the 
other  the  buffoon  of  the  people.  Rugantino  (the  growler) 
was  so  called  because  he  was  always  complaining  of  his 
fate,  always  maltreated,  always  threatening  revolt,  and 
always  bearing  any  amount  of  oppression  with  dogged 
patience.  He  was  a  short,  swaggering  fellow,  in  a  long 
dress-coat,  tricornered  hat  and  wig,  carried  a  great  sword 
with  which  he  was  always  threatening  to  do  great  ex- 
ploits, all  alone,  —  talked  in  big  words,  to  give  an  idea 
of  bloodthirstiness  and  courage,  but  in  moments  of  dan- 
ger took  to  his  heels  in  the  most  abject  manner.  Each 
of  these  characters  speaks  in  the  lowest  popular  dialect  of 
his  country  —  Stenterello  in  pure  Tuscan  patois,  Pulci- 
nella in  the  Lazzaroni  Neapolitan,  and  Cassandrino  in 
the  Trastevere  dialect.  These  dialects  of  Italy  are  very 
different.  The  Venetian  is  soft  and  whispering ;  one  of 
18 


274  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

its  chief  peculiarities  being  in  the  constant  use  of  the  x,  s, 
or  z,  which  have  usurped  the  place  of  the  harder  conso- 
nants. The  Genoese  is  peculiarly  harsh  and  unpleasant, 
abounding  in  the  nasal  tones  of  the  French.  The  Nea- 
politan mumbles  his  truncated  words,  while  the  letters  m 
and  n  seem  to  be  constantly  running  about  and  getting 
between  their  legs.  The  Florentine  and  Sienese  are  in 
the  same  sad  case  with  the  letter  h ;  it  is  omnipresent, 
forcing  itself  headlong  into  the  body  of  words  where  it 
has  no  business,  and  usurping  the  place  of  c,  ch,  and  qu. 
The  pronunciation  of  the  Sienese  is,  however,  far  more 
agreeable  than  that  of  the  Florentines ;  and  even  among 
the  common  people  a  purity  and  richness  of  language  are 
preserved  which  is  quite  remarkable. 

The  Roman  patois  is  different  from  all,  but  its  features 
are  not  so  strongly  marked.  Dante,  in  his  book  "  De 
Vulgari  Eloquentia,"  calls  it  the  most  unpleasant  of  all 
Italian  dialects ;  but  I  fear  there  was  a  little  Tuscan  jeal- 
ousy in  this  judgment.  The  Florentines  were  always 
violent  upon  the  subject  of  their  own  dialect,  and  their 
judgment  may  fairly  be  questioned  when  we  recall  the 
persecution  to  which  Girolamo  Gigli  was  subjected  by  the 
Academia  della  Crusca,  because  he  dared  in  his  cele- 
brated "  Vocabolario  Cateriniano "  to  put  forward  the 
claims  of  his  native  Siena  in  opposition  to  those  of  Flor- 
ence. For  this  offence  he  was  not  only  expelled  from  the 
Academy,  but  a  suit  was  instituted  against  him,  and  he 
was  prohibited  from  continuing  to  print  his  vocabolario 
when  he  had  reached  the  letter  R.  Nor  were  the 
Academicians  satisfied  with  this  —  they  went  so  far  as  to 
induce  the  Grand  Duke  to  order  all  the  copies  of  his  book 
to  be  burnt  by  the  public  executioner,  and  to  exile  the 
author,  until  he  was  driven  by  the  pressure  of  poverty 
and  threats  of  further  persecution  to  make  a  forced  re- 
tractation. We  may,  therefore,  take  the  judgment  of 
Dante,  perhaps,  as  not  free  from  a  certain  prejudice  in 
favor  of  his  own  Florence.  In  its  vocabulary,  the  Tus- 
can is  undoubtedly  richer  than  the  Roman,  but  the  slow, 
open  utterance  of  the  Romans  is  so  universally  admitted 
to  be  the  most  agreeable  in  Italy  as  to  have  passed  into 


ITALIAN  DIALECTS.  275 

the  saying,  Lingua  Toscana  in  bocca  Romana.  No  one 
passing  directly  from  Naples,  Genoa,  or  Florence  to  Rome 
can  fail  to  experience  a  certain  relief  in  the  change  from 
the  thick  confused  utterance  of  the  one  to  the  clear  enun- 
ciation of  the  other.  Nor  are  there  wanting  those  who 
affirm  that  the  Roman  dialect  retains  more  of  the  Latin 
than  is  to  be  found  in  the  Tuscan,  which,  though  fuller 
in  its  vocabulary,  is  more  of  a  patois.  If  you  would  hear 
the  Trastevere  dialect,  go  to  the  Teatro  Emiliano,  where 
there  are  theatrical  performances  every  night,  and  you 
will  hear  it  as  it  is  spoken  by  the  lowest  classes  in  Rome. 

The  peculiar  characteristic  of  the  Roman  dialect,  as  of 
the  Roman  humor,  is  its  satire.  It  abounds  in  prover- 
bial utterances,  in  transferred  phrases,  in  odd  similes  and 
metaphors,  in  vivid  impersonations,  and  satirical  nick- 
names of  persons  and  things.  Consonants  are  misplaced, 
grammar  upset,  and  words  are  often  ludicrously  mispro- 
nounced, but  there  is  a  sharpness  and  wit  in  their  idio- 
matic speech  which  stings  and  tickles.  Nothing  can  ex- 
ceed their  picturesqueness  of  utterance.  Let  any  one  offer 
for  anything  an  inadequate  price,  the  answer  will  as  likely 
as  not  be  "  non  pozzumus;  "  ripped  and  gaping  shoes  they 
call  "  Le  scarpe  die  rideno  ;  "  a  footman  in  livery,  be- 
hind a  carriage,  is  "  un  uditor  di  Rota  ;  "  the  back  of  the 
head  is  "  la  memoria  /  "  a  turnkey,  "  un  servo  di  Pi- 
lato  ;  "  a  princely  or  papal  palace,  "  un  miracolo  di  S. 
Pietro  ;  "  one's  children,  "  er  sangue  mio  ;  "  a  soldier  is 
"  er  zor  tajja-calli  ;  "  a  chatterer  is  a  "  capo  d'  abisse." 
To  spit  blood  is  "Fare  il  cardinali  in  petto"  Their 
phrases  to  denote  astonishment  are  of  the  oddest  char- 
acter, —  as  "  Bacconnaccio  !  Capperi  !  Christo-gesu- 
maria  !  "  Their  "  spropositi  "  are  equally  absurd  —  di- 
gestion becomes  "  V  indigestione  ; "  a  lawyer  is  "  er  leg- 
gabile  ;  "  the  pax  tecum  is  "  er  pasteco  ;  "  any  great 
painter  is  Raffaelle  Bonaroto.  II  and  del  are  changed  to 
er  and  der,  and  I  constantly  becomes  r,  as  "  concrusione  " 
for  conclusione.  The  infinitive  is  always  truncated,  with 
the  accent  thrown  forward,  as  benedi  for  benedire,  canta 
for  cantare. 

Whoever  would  study  the  dialect  of  the  common  people 


276  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

may  find  it  admirably  given  in  the  humorous  and  sa- 
tirical poems  of  Giuseppe  Belli,  which  not  only  are  won- 
derfully true  to  the  utterance  of  the  Romans,  but  also  to 
their  spirit ;  of  course,  it  must  always  be  borne  in  mind 
that  this  dialect  is  of  the  lower  and  most  ignorant  classes. 
The  following  sonnets  by  Belli  will  give  a  notion  of  his 
humor  and  of  the  Roman  dialect.  I  have  taken  the 
liberty  of  simplifying  the  spelling  a  little,  in  order  to  make 
them  more  intelligible  to  my  readers.  In  the  first  the 
nurse  is  showing  off  the  baby  :  — 

"  Er  Pupo. 

"  Che  ber  truttru !  oh  dio  mio !  che  ciammelldna  I 
No,  prima  fate  servo  a  nonno  e  zio 
Fateje  servo,  via,  sciumaco  mio  — 
E  poi  sc'  e  la  bella  e  la  buona  — 

Bravo  Pietruccio !  —  E  come  fa  er  Giudio  ? 
Fa  aeo  ?     Bravo  Pietruccio  !  —  E  la  misciona  ? 
Fa  ggnao  ?     Bravo  Pietruccio !  —  E  quanno  sona  ? 
Fa  ddindi  ?     Bravo !  —  e  mo  dove  sta  Iddio  ? 

Sta  lassu  ?     Bravo !     Ebbe  ?     E  la  Pecorella  ? 
Fate  la  pecorella  a  zio  e  nonno  — 
E  pio  sc'  e  la  buona  e  la  bella. 

Oh,  zitto,  zitto  !  via :  noo,  nu  la  vonno  — 
Eccolo  er  cavalluccio  e  la  sciammella     .... 
Eh,  si  stranisce  un  po',  me  e  tutto  sonno." 

"  Le  Fatiche  der  Papa. 

"  Ah  I  non  fa  ggnente  er  Papa  ?  ah  non  fa  ggniente  ! 
Ah  non  fa  ggnente,  lui,  brutte  marmotte  ? 
Accusi  vi  pijasse  un  accidente ! 
Come  er  Papa  f  atica,  giorno  e  notte ! 
Chi  parla  co  Dio  Padre  oranipotente  ? 
Chi  assorve  tanti  fiji  de  mignotte  ? 
Chi  va  in  carozza  a  benedl  la  ggente, 
Chi  manna  fora  1'  indulgenze  a  botte  ? 
E  chi  je  conta  li  cotrini  sui  ? 
Non  e  lui  che  ci  fa  li  cardinal!  ? 
Le  gabelle,  per  Dio,  non  le  fa  lui  ? 
E  qnel  ant  ra  f  atica  da  f  acchino 
Li  strappa  tutto  er  giorno  memoriali 
E  butta  Hi  a  pezzetti  in  der  cestino." 


PUPPET  PLAYS.  277 

If  one  would  see  the  characteristic  theatres  of  the  basso 
popolo  and  study  their  manners,  he  should  go  to  the  Tea- 
tro  Emiliano  in  the  Piazza  Navona,  or  the  Fico,  so  called 
from  the  street  in  which  it  is  situated.  At  the  former  the 
acting  is  by  respectable  puppets ;  at  the  latter  the  plays 
are  performed  by  actors,  or  "personaffgf)"  as  they  are 
called.  The  love  for  the  acting  of  burattini,  or  puppets, 
is  universal  among  the  lower  classes  throughout  Italy,  and 
in  some  cities,  especially  in  Genoa,  no  pains  are  spared  in 
their  costume,  construction,  and  movement  to  render  them 
lifelike.  They  are  made  of  wood,  are  generally  from  two 
to  three  feet  in  height,  with  very  large  heads,  and  super- 
natural glaring  eyes  that  never  wink,  and  are  clad  in  all 
the  splendors  of  tinsel,  velvet,  and  steel.  Their  joints  are 
so  flexible  that  the  least  weight  or  strain  upon  them  effects 
a  dislocation,  and  they  are  moved  by  wires  attached  to 
their  heads  and  extremities.  Though  the  largest  are  only 
about  half  the  height  of  a  man,  yet,  as  the  stage  and  all 
the  appointments  and  scenery  are  upon  the  same  scale  of 
proportion,  the  eye  is  soon  deceived  and  accepts  them  as 
of  life-size.  But  if  by  accident  a  hand  or  arm  of  one  of 
the  wire-pullers  appears  from  behind  the  scenes  or  de- 
scends below  the  hangings,  it  startles  you  by  its  porten- 
tous size  ;  and  the  audience  in  the  stage-boxes,  instead  of 
reducing  the  burattinl  to  Liliputians,  by  contrast,  as  they 
lean  forward,  become  themselves  Brobdingnaggians,  with 
elephantine  hands  and  heads. 

Do  not  allow  yourself  to  suppose  that  there  is  anything 
ludicrous  to  the  audience  in  the  performances  of  these 
wooden  burattini.  Nothing,  on  the  contrary,  is  more  seri- 
ous. No  human  being  could  be  so  serious.  Their  counte- 
nances are  solemn  as  death,  and  more  unchanging  than  the 
face  of  a  clock.  Their  terrible  gravity  when,  with  drop- 
ping heads  and  collapsed  arms,  they  fix  on  you  their  great 
goggle  eyes,  is  at  times  ghastly.  They  never  descend  into 
the  regions  of  conscious  farce.  The  plays  they  perform 
are  mostly  heroic,  romantic,  and  historical.  They  stoop 
to  nothing  which  is  not  startling  in  incident,  imposing  in 
style,  and  grandiose  in  movement.  The  wars  of  the  Pal- 
adins, the  heroic  adventures  of  knights  and  ladies  of  ro- 


278  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

mance,  the  tragedies  of  the  middle  ages,  the  prodigies  of 
the  melodramatic  world,  are  within  their  special  province. 
The  heroes  that  tread  the  fantoccini  stage  are  doughty 
warriors,  who  perform  impossible  feats  of  prowess,  slay 
armies  with  a  single  arm,  rescue  injured  damsels,  express 
themselves  in  loud  and  boastful  language,  utter  exalted 
sentiments,  and  are  equally  admirable  in  love  and  war. 
No  worthy  fantoccino  shrinks  before  an  army,  or  leaves 
the  boards  of  battle  till  it  is  covered  with  the  corpses  of 
his  enemies. 

The  audience  listen  with  grave  and  profound  interest. 
To  them  the  actors  are  not  fantoccini,  but  heroes.  Their 
inflated  and  extravagant  discourse  is  simply  grand  and 
noble.  They  are  the  mighty  x  which  represents  the  un- 
known quantity  of  boasting  which  potentially  exists  in  the 
bosom  of  every  one.  Do  not  laugh  when  you  enter,  or 
the  general  look  of  surprise  and  annoyance  will  at  once 
recall  you  to  the  proprieties  of  the  occasion.  You  might 
as  well  laugh  in  a  church. 

I  know  no  better  way  of  giving  an  idea  of  the  ordinary 
performances  at  the  Teatro  Emiliano,  and  the  Teatro  della 
Muse,  as  the  Fico  magniloquently  calls  itself  on  the  bills, 
than  by  an  account  of  an  evening  I  passed  at  them  last 
June. 

At  each  theatre  there  are  two  performances,  or  came- 
rate,  every  evening;  one  commencing  at  Ave  Maria,  and 
the  other  at  ten  o'clock.  We  arrive  at  the  Teatro  Emil- 
iano just  too  late  for  the  first,  as  we  learned  at  the  ticket- 
office.  "  What  is  that  great  noise  of  drums  inside  ? " 
asked  we.  " Battaglie"  said  the  ticket-seller.  " Shall 
we  see  a  battle  in  the  next  piece  ?  "  "  Eh  !  sempre  bat- 
taglie"  —  always  battle,  —  was  the  reproving  answer. 

Outside  were  two  hand-carts ;  one  with  refreshments  of 
sherbets,  or  "pappine  "  as  they  are  called  in  Trastevere 
dialect,  sold  at  one  baiocco  the  little  glass ;  and  the  other 
filled  with  oblong  slabs  of  hard,  stony  gingerbread  and 
"  bruscolini,"  or  pumpkin  seeds  salted  and  cooked  in  a 
furnace ;  which  are  the  favorite  picking  of  the  Roman 
populace  on  all  festal  occasions. 

The  bill  pasted  outside  informed  us  that  the  burattini 


AT  THE  TEATRO  FICO.  279 

were  to  play  to-night,  "  La  Grandiosa  opera  intitolata  il 
Helisario,  ossia  le  aventure  di  Oreste,  JErsilia,  Falsierone, 
Sellnguerro  ed  il  terribil  Gobbo."  ("  The  grandiose  opera 
entitled  Belisarius,  or  the  adventures  of  Orestes,  Ersilia, 
Falsierone,  Selinguerro,  and  the  terrible  Hunchback") 
In  the  names  themselves  there  was  a  sound  of  horror  and 
fear.  Prices  in  the  platea,  two  baiocchi  ;  in  the  loggiata, 
three  baiocchi.  Private  boxes  are  also  to  be  obtained  for 
five  baiocchi  the  seat ;  and  some  of  my  female  friends 
having  taken  a  box  one  night,  were  received  by  the  au- 
dience on  their  entrance  with  loud  cheers.  We,  however, 
only  allowed  ourselves  the  luxury  of  a  loggiata  seat. 

But  there  are  three-quarters  of  an  hour  to  wait  before 
the  performance  begins  —  how  shall  we  pass  them  ?  "  At 
the  Fico,"  suggested  the  ticket-seller.  "  There  you  may 
pass  the  time  tolerably ;  though,"  he  added  contemptu- 
ously, "there  are  no  ' fantoccini'  there,  nothing  but  ' per- 
sonaggi^  "  Acknowledging  the  inferiority  of  mere  human 
acting,  as  compared  with  that  of  the  puppets,  we  accepted 
the  advice,  which  seemed  good,  and  off  we  set  through 
the  narrow  damp  streets  and  squares,  where  great  blocks 
of  moonlight  and  shadow  lay  cut  out  on  the  pavement, 
and  finally  arrived  before  a  shabby  house,  which  we  rec- 
ognized as  the  theatre  by  the  two  lanterns  hung  outside. 
Some  few  persons  were  standing  near  the  door ;  and  from 
the  open  windows  of  the  theatre  itself,  others,  leaning  out, 
cried  across  the  street  to  the  venders  of  bruscolini  to  toss 
them  up  a  cornetto  of  seeds.  The  evening  was  warm  out- 
side, but  the  air  within  the  loggiata  was  thick,  slab,  and 
steamy  with  perspiration.  The  curtain  was  down.  The 
audience,  in  a  state  of  extreme  dishabille,  were,  some  of 
them,  sprawling  on  the  benches ;  some  leaning  over  the 
front  of  the  loggiata,  and  conversing  with  friends  in  the 
pit  below.  Here  were  men  with  by  no  means  immaculate 
linen,  many  of  them  in  their  shirt-sleeves  and  bare  feet 
as  they  had  come  from  their  work.  Mothers  with  only 
a  chemise  from  the  waist  up,  drawn  round  the  neck,  and 
soothing  the  fretful  babies  they  held  in  their  arms  by 
the  simple  and  efficacious  method  of  giving  them  the 
breast.  Nothing  at  all  improper  was  thought  or  done,  but 


280  ROBA  DI  ROMA, 

the  audience  was  simply  different  from  what  one  sees  at 
the  Apollo,  and  less  attention  had  been  paid  to  show  — 
decidedly.  In  the  centre  was  a  three-armed  brass  chan- 
delier for  illumination  ;  all  three  lights  turned  up  high  and 
in  full  smoke. 

In  a  moment  the  bell  tinkled,  and  out  came  an  actor  be- 
fore the  curtain,  nearly  touching  with  his  head  the  top  of 
the  stage.  He  announced,  to  what  he  denominated  "  il 
culto  publico"  that  the  next  week  was  to  appear  " una 
bella  baciochetta"  and  who,  having  too  much  "  vergogna  " 
to  demand  the  favor  of  their  company  herself,  had  dele- 
gated "  il  gentil  invito  "  to  him.  The  culto  publico  mani- 
fested its  interest  in  this  announcement  by  a  series  of  in- 
quiries as  to  who  she  was,  and  when  she  would  appear, 
and  what  was  her  name,  and  other  similar  questions ;  all 
of  which  being  answered  to  their  satisfaction,  they  prom- 
ised to  come ;  and  the  actor,  bowing  addio,  bumped  out 
of  sight  through  the  curtain,  rather  ignominiousljj. 

Then  the  play  began.  The  bill  of  fare  was  a  panto- 
mime entitled  "  La  Zingarella"  and  a  comedy,  " in  dia- 
letto  Romanesco"  called  "  Peppo  er  Chiavaro  e  Pepe  er 
muratore,  ovvero  er  primo  giorno  della  sposalizio  alle 
quattro  Fontane."  This  was  unfortunately  over,  it  having 
been  performed  at  the  first  camerata :  for  here,  as  at  the 
Emiliano,  are  two  performances  nightly ;  one,  the  "  Lung/a" 
at  five  baiocchi  the  seat,  and  the  second,  the  "  Corta,"  at 
two  baiocchi.  We  were  forced,  therefore,  to  content  our- 
selves with  "  La  Zingarella,"  which  now  began. 

Two  "  reali  personaggi,"  the  king  and  the  queen,  first 
make  their  appearance,  accompanied  by  a  courtier  and  a 
little  girl,  their  daughter.  They  have  come  to  walk  in  a 
garden.  There  is  much  gesticulation  of  pleasure  and  af- 
fection, pressure  of  both  hands  on  the  bosom,  and  wrig- 
gling of  shoulders,  pointing  at  the  child,  and  making  the 
circuit  of  their  faces  with  their  thumb  and  fingers,  and 
floating  out  and  waving  of  hands.  This  over,  the  "  reali 
personaggi"  motion  addio,  and  leave  the  child  alone 
with  the  courtier,  who  at  once  prays  her  to  dance.  She 
is  not  only  "prima  ballerina,"  but  the  whole  "  corps  de 
ballet "  in  her  one  little  person,  though  she  is  evidently 


AT  THE  TEATRO  FICO.  281 

not  more  than  eight  years  of  age.  Nevertheless,  the  au- 
dience, which  is  far  from  critical,  is  charmed,  and  loudly 
upplauds  as  she  finishes  a  shawl  dance  with  not  the  fresh- 
ost  gauze  mantle,  nor,  shall  I  dare  to  say  it  (con  rispetto) 
the  cleanest  or  best-gartered  stockings.  However,  that  is 
to  he  pardoned  —  they  are  probably  her  mother's.  The 
courtier  now  leaves  her  alone  for  a  moment,  with  no  other 
apparent  object  than  to  enable  two  or  three  Contraban- 
distas  (for  of  course  the  scene  is  in  Spain,  we  knew  that 
from  the  title  of  the  pantomime)  to  rush  in,  seize  the  lit- 
tle princess,  tear  off  her  flower-wreath,  and  away  with 
her.  Immediately  on  their  exit  the  courtier  appears,  fol- 
lowed by  her  royal  parents,  who,  on  finding  her  gone, 
make  terrible  pantomimes  of  despair  —  beating  their  fore- 
heads and  rushing  up  and  down  the  stage.  The  courtier 
then  madly  plunges  through  the  coulisses,  and  reappears 
with  the  wreath,  when  a  great  tableau  of  horror  takes 
place,  and  the  curtain  falls. 

When  the  second  act  opens  ten  years  have  elapsed,  as 
a  little  gamin  at  our  side  assiduously  explains,  and  the 
little  girl  has  grown  into  a  Zingarella,  a  fortune-teller. 
She  now  comes  with  the  Contrabandistas,  and  meets  the 
courtier  and  the  courtier's  son,  who,  naturally,  is  to  be  the 
Deus  ex  machind.  Ah  !  it  is  a  case  of  love  at  first  sight. 
She  tells  his  fortune  —  he  gives  her  a  bouquet  —  and  then 
she  is  carried  away  by  those  cruel  Contrabandistas.  It 
is  evidently  all  over  with  him.  How  he  presses  his  breast, 
and  wriggles,  and  passes  his  thumb  and  finger  round  the 
outline  of  his  face,  and  looks  up  to  heaven  deprecatingly ! 
But  the  courtier  is  a  hard  father  —  he  sternly  commands 
him  not  to  see  her.  But  he  escapes  and  flees  to  find  her. 
In  the  next  scene  the  tired  Contrabandistas  come  in  and 
sleep;  she  only  wakes  —  to  kiss  her  bouquet,  and  press 
her  bosom,  and  wriggles.  Ah !  who  is  this  ?  —  it  is  —  ah ! 
no !  —  it  is  not  —  yes  !  it  is  the  courtier's  son.  They  meet 

—  what  rapture  !  —  he  kneels  to  her  —  when  suddenly  the 
fierce  Contrabandistas  awake.  There  are  passionate  threats 

—  he   protests  —  swears   he   loves  —  points  to  the  third 
finger  of  the  left  hand  —  implores  heaven  —  will  marry. 
All  is  agitation  —  when  suddenly  the  reali  personaggi  and 


282  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

the  courtier,  escorted  by  two  troops,  rush  in  to  find  the 
lover.  There  are  no  fire-arms  or  swords  used,  but  a 
violent  wrestling  and  slinging  about  takes  place,  on  a  stage 
ten  feet  square,  until  the  Contrabandistas  give  in,  and  the 
curtain  falls. 

The  audience  is  now  getting  excited ;  already  during 
this  act  they  have  cried  loudly  for  cakes  and  bruscolini 
and  shot  their  husks  right  and  left  in  their  excitement, 
and  thrown  the  empty  cornetti  on  the  stage ;  now  they 
scream  for  the  limonaro  —  and  he,  as  he  carries  round  on 
his  tray  glasses  of  sugarless  lemonade,  with  a  lump  of  the 
lemon  floating  about  in  them,  cries  loudly,  "  Qui  si  beve  e 
si  mangia  per  un  baiocco."  By  that  he  means  that  one 
can  drink  the  sour  warm  water  and  eat  the  lemon.  Mean- 
time, the  babies,  getting  hot,  begin  to  fret  and  whine,  when 
tinkle  goes  the  bell  behind  the  stage,  open  goes  the  chemise 
front  for  the  baby's  comfort,  and  up  goes  the  curtain.  It 
is  a  new  scene — the  royal  apartment.  One  very  dirty 
and  rickety  straw-bottomed  chair  constitutes  its  sole  actual 
furniture  —  its  throne  ;  the  rest  is  supplied  by  the  im- 
agination. Hung  on  the  lintel  of  the  door  is  a  portrait  of 
a  child  —  and  such  a  portrait !  —  shades  of  Vandyke  and 
Titian !  The  king  enters  and  sits  in  the  one  chair ;  for 
obvious  reasons  the  queen  cannot  follow  his  example. 
There  is  great  sorrow,  and  weeping  and  gesticulating  at 
the  portrait,  in  the  midst  of  which  the  Contrabandistas 
are  brought  in  with  the  Zingarella.  Aha !  what  a  wonder- 
ful resemblance  is  this  between  the  portrait  and  the  Zin- 
garella ?  It  is  difficult  for  the  audience  to  perceive,  but 
how  astounding  it  seems  to  the  king,  queen,  and  courtier! 
There  is  violent  gesticulation  and  pointing  from  her  to  the 
portrait.  Ah  !  yes,  it  is  —  ah  !  no,  it  is  not.  "  If  she  be 
my  child,  a  strawberry  mark  will  be  found  on  her  right 
arm."  Agitated  unbuttoning  of  the  sleeve.  There  is  the 
strawberry  mark !  —  and  everybody  falls  into  everybody's 
arms  —  she  is  found  at  last !  The  courtier's  son  and 
Zingarella  kneel  —  and,  "  My  blessing  on  you,  my  chil- 
dren," is  given.  Then,  with  a  fierce  gesture,  the  Contra- 
bandistas are  ordered  to  execution.  But  ah !  the  Zin- 
garella is  at  the  royal  feet,  and  the  royal  clemency  is 


AT  THE  TEATRO  FICO.  283 

shown  —  at  which  there  is  loud  applause  by  the  audience, 
and  the  curtain  goes  down. 

"  Stop  a  moment,  gentlemen,"  says  the  gamin  at  our 
side  —  "  it  is  not  yet  finished.  Now  comes  the  betrothal." 
The  curtain  rises  again.  There  is  a  great,  a  magnificent 
illumination,  consisting  of  five  paper  lanterns  pinned  to  a 
curtain,  spattered  and  splashed  with  green,  to  imitate 
foliage,  I  suppose  —  it  is  in  honor  of  the  marriage.  The 
king  and  queen,  two  courtiers,  the  bride  and  the  bride- 
groom, are  all  the  company.  The  music  is  a  fiddle  and 
mandolin.  And  here  a  great  difference  was  perceptible 
between  the  performances  at  the  Fico  and  those  at  the 
Apollo.  The  reali  personaggi  did  not  sit  in  the  left  corner 
in  chairs  of  state,  sadly  and  stiffly  looking  on  at  the  prima 
ballerina  and  the  corps  de  ballet.  No !  they  and  the 
courtiers  did  the  dancing  themselves,  and  polked  and 
waltzed  all  together  round  the  little  stage  ;  the  king  with 
one  courtier,  the  queen  with  the  other,  and  the  Zingarella 
with  her  lover.  This  over,  there  came  a  grand  tableau, 
with  red  Bengal  lights  blazing  and  smoking  behind  the 
side-scenes  and  casting  a  Der  Freischiitz  glare  over  the 
happy  party,  —  and  all  was  over. 

Here,  by  the  way,  I  am  reminded  of  an  incident  which 
occurred  one  night  to  a  friend  of  mine  at  the  Fico.  The 
abandoned  lover  came  forward  to  the  foot-lights,  clasped 
his  hands,  and  exclaimed  pathetically,  "  Dove  sel  tu,  o  bell1 
angelo  della  mia  vita  ?  "  "  A  San  Michele"  responded 
a  voice  from  the  pit,  "  a  San  Michele."  Now  at  San 
Michele  are  the  prisons  for  loose  women,  who  are  "  aban- 
doned "  in  another  sense ;  and  the  personaggio  on  the 
stage,  enraged  at  this  interruption,  paused  in  his  part, 
stopped  short,  shook  his  fingers  into  the  pit  at  the  auda- 
cious individual,  and  cried  out  fiercely,  with  a  racy  and 
opprobrious  epithet  which  1  am  forced  to  omit,  "  Colla 
tua  sorella  —  colla  tua  sorella. "  Having  thus  d  isburd  en  ed 
himself  of  his  emotions,  he  continued  his  sentimental  invo- 
cation of  his  "  bell'  angelo  del  mio  cor." 

Delighted  with  this  pantomime,  we  now  retraced  our 
steps  to  the  Emiliano.  The  second  camerata  had  not 
begun,  and  we  strolled  about  the  piazza.  The  great  foun- 


284  ROB  A  Dl  ROMA. 

tain  of  Bernini  rose  in  the  centre,  its  dark  figures  crouch- 
ing under  the  obelisk  that  pointed  silently  its  finger  to  the 
sky.  The  moonlight  flooded  the  square  and  shone  on  the 
palaces  and  the  church,  and  the  plashing  water  sounded 
soothingly  as  it  fell  in  the  marble  basin.  At  a  caffe 
close  by  we  heard  a  thrumming  guitar  and  a  tinkling  man- 
dolin, played  by  two  men  sitting  on  a  table  outside  the 
door ;  several  of  the  Trasteverini  were  gathered  about, 
men  and  women,  dancing  the  sa.ltarello  on  the  rough  stones. 
In  the  intervals,  a  sturdy  fellow,  a  little  top-heavy  with 
wine,  was  congratulating  himself  and  his  audience  on  the 
successes  of  Garibaldi,  news  of  the  taking  of  Como  having 
just  arrived.  Then,  accompanied  by  the  mandolin  and 
guitar,  he  began  in  the  intervals  of  the  saltarello  to  scream 
out  a  Neapolitan  song,  with  all  the  jars  and  sudden  breaks 
of  voice  which  are  so  characteristic  of  their  singing,  until 
the  piazza  echoed. 

We  had  listened  to  him  so  long  that  the  play  had  al- 
ready commenced  when  we  entered  the  Emiliano.  The 
audience  was  small,  but  the  theatre,  though  devoted  to  the 
burattini,  was  larger,  better,  and  cleaner  than  the  Fico. 
The  " grandiosa  opera"  of  Belisario  did  not  belie  the 
general  character  of  Fantoccini  plays.  It  was  "  sempre 
battaglie."  The  scene  when  we  entered  was  between  two 
puppets,  both  dressed  in  armor,  speaking  in  tremendous 
voices  and  flourishing  gigantic  swords.  One  was  a  child- 
Fantoccino  —  the  other  probably  Selinguerra.  No  attempt 
was  made  to  conceal  the  agency  by  which  the  figures  and 
their  weapons  were  moved.  Stout  perpendicular  wires, 
piercing  the  head  and  passing  out  of  sight  above  the  hang- 
ings, sustained  the  figures,  and  the  hands  and  swords  were 
moved  by  the  same  grossly  apparent  means.  Each  Fan-, 
toccino  when  it  spoke  went  into  a  sudden  convulsion,  as  if 
it  were  attacked  by  a  fit  of  St.  Vitus's  dance,  while  the 
sword  seemed  animated  with  spasmodic  life,  and  thrashed 
to  and  fro  in  the  air  with  utter  disregard  to  the  warrior's 
anatomy,  which  it  constantly  and  painfully  dislocated  with 
every  movement.  But  no  sooner  had  he  ceased  speaking 
than  his  arms  fell  into  a  helpless  collapse,  his  head  dropped 
drunkenly  forward,  or  remained  fixed  in  a  dislocation 


AT  THE  TEATRO  EMILIANO.  285 

glaring  at  nothing,  and  with  liis  sword  stiffly  pointing  up 
to  the  ceiling,  and  his  legs  hang-ing  in  the  air  or  huddled 
under  him,  so  as  to  leave  him  quite  out  of  balance,  he 
awaited  impotently  the  answer  of  his  opponent.  It  was  a 
violent  dispute  that  was  taking  place  between  the  youth 
and  Selinguerra  and  his  lieutenant,  who  were  threatening 
to  destroy  the  castle  of  the  "  terribil  Gobbo."  All  these 
doughty  warriors  were  a  couple  of  inches  at  least  above 
the  floor,  which  they  never  descended  to  or  condescended 
to  touch,  save  .by  way  of  emphasis,  when  down  they  came 
on  their  heels,  with  a  sharp  wooden  rap,  and  then  jerked 
suddenly  up  again.  The  dispute  was  tremendous.  They 
launched  at  each  other,  in  loud  voices,  terrible  threats  and 
challenges.  Selinguerra  was  especially  ferocious,  and 
"  Chi  sei  tu  che  osi ! "  he  cried  to  the  youth ;  but  the 
latter,  not  to  be  outdone  in  boasting  and  fury,  with  a  wild 
spasm  of  sword  and  dangling  about  of  his  arms,  exclaimed, 
'•  Trema  !  che  son  il  figlio  del  terribil  Gobbo"  and  then 
collapsed  in  silence.  "  Ah,  ah,"  with  a  roar  responded 
his  opponent,  "  male  haifatto  apalesarlo  —  nonpossopiu 
contenere  il  mio  immenso  furor.  Preparati  a  morir !  " 
and  with  a  galvanic  twitch  and  a  thundering  rap  of  his 
heels  on  the  floor,  he  shook  defiance  at  the  bold  youth. 
But  the  youth  now  showed  himself  the  true  son  of  the 
terrible  Gobbo.  He  roused  from  the  collapse  in  which  he 
had  fallen,  and  coming  down  with  his  heels  too  (as  if, 
Antaeus -like,  to  acquire  new  strength  by  touching  the 
ground),  he  jerked  his  head  and  limbs,  flung  out  widely 
one  leg,  and  waved  a  challenge  in  the  name  of  St.  Vitus. 
Now  ensued  a  terrible  encounter.  Selinguerra,  backed 
by  his  lieutenant,  attacked  the  heroic  son  of  the  Gobbo, 
and  all  three,  rising  higher  from  the  floor  in  their  excite- 
ment, dashed  promiscuously  together,  clashing  their  swords 
furiously,  and  swinging  backwards  and  forwards  half  the 
length  of  the  stage,  while  their  helpless  legs  beat  to  and 
fro  in  the  air.  All  the  while  a  drum  behind  the  scenes 
was  "  rolling  rapidly."  It  was  encouraging,  however,  to 
see  how  bravely  the  son  of  the  Gobbo  held  his  own. 
Despite  the  terrible  blows  he  received  on  his  head,  each 
of  which  would  have  done  forever  for  a  mere  "  perso- 


286  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

naggio,"  and  the  excited  efforts  he  made  with  his  arms 
and  legs,  he  never  for  a  moment  lost  his  courage  or  wind. 
His  expression  never  changed,  but  on  his  countenance 
might  still  be  seen  the  same  calm,  supernatural  glare,  the 
same  unwinking  eyes.  At  last,  however,  he  was  brought 
to  his  knees,  or  rather,  to  be  accurate,  he  was  brought 
half-way  down  backward,  with  his  legs  at  an  angle  of 
forty-five  degrees,  sitting  on  nothing  at  all,  and  still  shaking 
the  "  fragments  of  his  blade  "  above  him.  He  was  now 
so  weak  that  his  endeavors  to  sit  entirely  down  seemed 
vain,  and  in  one  of  his  attempts  to  do  so  a  gigantic  appari- 
tion of  a  superhuman  fist  appeared  like  a  portent  above 
his  head  between  the  slips.  "  Preparati  a  morir  !  "  now 
thundered  Selinguerra^  and  all  seemed  over  with  him, 
when  suddenly  the  aspect  of  things  was  changed.  In 
burst  the  "  terribil  Gobbo  "  himself,  "  in  complete  steel," 
and,  striking  the  floor  with  a  succession  of  bold  knocks,  and 
waving  with  convulsive  jerks  his  sword,  while  he  sidled  dis- 
locatedly  along  towards  Selinguerra  with  little  drifting 
hops,  brought  help  at  the  most  opportune  moment.  Well  did 
he  sustain  in  the  ensuing  conflict  his  terrible  reputation. 
"  Alone,  alone  he  did  it."  At  first  it  was  Selinguerra  and 
his  lieutenant  who  opposed  him,  but  he  soon  made  minced 
meat  of  them ;  and  then  the  whole  army,  spasmodically 
hopping  and  staggering  in  sideways  to  the  rescue  of  their 
captain,  attacked  the  Gobbo  all  together.  In  the  rage  of 
the  conflict,  both  he  and  the  army  madly  swung  the  whole 
length  of  the  stage,  suspended  in  the  air,  smashing  against 
each  other  right  and  left  in  the  utmost  confusion,  and  cut- 
ting each  other  promiscuously  in  their  attempts  to  hit  him, 
as  if  it  were  a  "  free  fight "  in  Arkansas.  But  one  by  one, 
and  platoon  by  platoon,  they  fell  before  the  terrible  Gobbo, 
until  at  last  he  hovered  above  the  heaps  of  slain,  sound  as 
ever  in  wind  and  limb,  and  had  a  spasm  of  satisfaction 
over  them  as  they  lay  there  covering  the  stage,  some  of 
them  with  their  legs  straight  up  in  the  air.  But  a  mes- 
senger now  arrived.  Where  is  the  Gobbo's  spouse  ?  Oh 
Dio !  and  messenger  and  Gobbo  drifted  out  together, 
bumping  each  other  recklessly  on  the  way,  and  disappeared 
between  the  slips. 


PLAYS  OF  THE  FANTOCCINI.  287 

It  is  useless  further  to  follow  the  doings  on  this  occa- 
sion. Suffice  it  to  say,  that  there  was  the  "  serpent-man," 
ending  in  a  long  green  tail ;  and  a  terrible  giant,  with  a 
huge  head  and  pock-marked  face,  each  of  which  was  a 
"  Deus  ex  machind,"  descending  at  opportune  moments 
to  assist  one  or  the  other  side,  —  the  "  uomo  serpente  "  on 
one  occasion  crushing  a  warrior  who  was  engaged  in  an 
encounter  with  Ersilia  by  flinging  a  great  tower  on  him. 
What  Belisario  had  to  do  with  this  "grandiosa  opera" 
besides  giving  it  his  name,  I  did  not  plainly  see,  as  he 
never  made  his  appearance  on  the  stage.  However,  the 
audience  seemed  greatly  delighted  with  the  performance. 
They  ate  voraciously  of  bruscolini  and  cakes,  partook 
largely  of  lemonade,  and,  when  I  left,  the  stage  was 
strewn  with  cornetti,  or  paper  horns,  which  they  had 
emptied  of  their  seeds. 

The  Fantoccini  do  not,  however,  confine  themselves  to 
the  recitation  of  plays  founded  on  incidents  in  romance 
and  profane  history  —  they  also  devote  their  powers  to 
the  representation  of  religious  moralities,  or  mysteries,  in 
which  they  "  present "  scenes  from  Scripture  history. 
These  "  motions,"  as  Ben  Jonson  calls  them,  are  for  the 
most  part  performed  by  Fantoccini  ;  but  sometimes  they 
are  represented  by  living  persons,  —  and  there  is  a  species 
of  public  plays,  called  Giostre,  or  Maggi,  which  are  still 
performed  by  the  peasants  of  some  of  the  Tuscan  towns. 
Giuseppe  Tigri,  in  his  preface  to  the  "Canti  Popolari 
Toscani,"  says  :  —  "  Some  of  these  I  have  myself  seen,  a 
few  years  ago,  at  Campiglio  di  Cereglio  and  at  Gavinana. 
The  best  known,  and  those  which  are  played  nearly  every 
year,  are  the  story  of  Joseph ;  the  sacrifice  of  Abraham ; 
the  passion  of  our  Lord,  —  which,  in  many  respects,  resem- 
ble the  ancient  mysteries.  Besides  these,  there  are  Egisto 
de'  Greci ;  Bradamante  and  Ruggero,  taken  from  Ariosto  ; 
Ircano,  King  of  Thrace  ;  Costantino  and  Buonafede,  or 
the  Triumph  of  Friendship  ;  the  conversion  of  St.  Giovanni 
Bocca  d'Oro  ;  Arbino  and  Micrene,  or  the  persecution  of 
the  Christians  by  a  Turkish  king  of  Algeria ;  the  martyr- 
dom of  Sta.  Filomena ;  the  Empress  Flavia ;  Rosana,  the 
beautiful  pagan  who  is  converted  to  Christianity;  Sant' 


288  ROBA  Dl  ROMA. 

Alessio ;  the  glorious  conquest  of  Jerusalem  by  the  Chris- 
tians ;  Cleonte  and  Isabella  and  Stillacore ;  the  taking  of 
Paris  described  by  Ariosto ;  and  the  death  of  Louis  XVI. 
Their  theatre  is  in  the  open  air,  or  in  the  chief  piazza 
of  the  town,  or  under  the  shadow  of  the  chestnut-trees  in 
some  wooded  valley.  On  the  day  of  the  festival,  after 
vespers,  the  people  of  the  surrounding  towns  meet  to- 
gether and  form  a  great  circle  of  men  and  women. 
Before  the  play  begins  there  is  a  messenger  (called  also 
an  interpreter  or  page,  as  in  the  mysteries,  dressed  like  an 
angel,  with  a  flower  in  his  hand)  who,  after  the  custom 
of  the  ancient  Greek  tragedies,  sings  a  prologue,  and 
salutes  the  audience,  demanding  their  favor.  The  heroes 
of  the  drama  then  make  their  entrance,  and  with  them 
comes  the  buffoon,  who  represents  some  one  of  the  Italian 
masks  —  just  as  in  the  antique  tragi-comedies  they  were 
present  to  temper  with  their  jests  the  excess  of  horror 
or  compassion  among  the  spectators.  The  men  play  the 
women's  parts,  and  are  dressed  in  great  mantles,  or,  as 
they  call  it,  'all'  eroica,'  and  as  much  as  possible  in  cos- 
tume. Whenever  the  dress  of  the  ancient  Paladins  is 
required,  they  have  flags  and  old  swords,  and  carry  beau- 
tiful lances  and  halberds  in  their  hands,  with  which  they 
joust  very  skilfully,  and  which  are  (as  I  was  told  at 
Gavinana)  of  the  period  of  Ferruccio.  They  weave  to- 
gether dialogues  without  divisions  of  acts,  chanting  them 
to  a  regular  monotonous  song  in  strophes  of  eight,  re- 
peating the  first  line  of  each,  and  moving  from  one  part 
of  the  circle  to  another.  The  action  is  exceedingly 
simple,  without  intricacy  or  any  attempt  to  keep  the  in- 
terest of  the  hearers  in  suspense,  and  the  messenger 
informs  them  at  first  what  is  to  be  represented.  Certain 
ariettes  in  sevens,  interpolated  into  the  drama,  play  the 
part  of  the  chorus  in  the  Greek  tragedy,  and  are  sung 
with  the  accompaniment  of  the  violin.  The  character  of 
this  drama  is  always  chaste  and  moral,  and  serves  admi- 
rably to  keep  alive  among  the  people  who  delight  in  them 
the  old  chivalric  sentiment  for  the  lady  of  one's  love,  and 
for  every  sacred  and  magnanimous  enterprise." 

During  Easter  I  have  also  seen,  at  Santo  Spirito,  a 


MYSTERY  PLAYS.  289 

mystery  play  performed  by  the  scholars,  and  founded 
upon  the  story  of  Shadrach,  Meshach,  and  Abednego, 
who  would  not  bow  down  and  worship  the  golden  image 
that  Nebuchadnezzar  the  king  had  set  up.  It  was  per- 
formed in  the  afternoon,  within  the  hospital,  and  the 
Cardinal  Tosti  presided  over  it. 

Ordinarily,  however,  these  mysteries  are  performed  by 
puppets,  who  are  more  dignified  and  less  expensive  than 
" personaggi"  In  England  the  early  plays  of  this  kind 
were  pageants  performed  in  the  church,  in  French  or 
Latin.  English,  however,  soon  took  the  place  of  all 
foreign  tongues,  and  they  began  to  be  played  at  the 
corners  of  the  streets  or  in  the  public  squares.  They 
were  generally  in  the  early  days  exhibited  on  carts  con- 
structed for  the  purpose,  with  different  floors  :  one  for  the 
pater  ccelestis  and  the  angels,  another  for  the  saints,  and 
a  third  for  man.  One  corner  of  man's  stage  was  called 
"  hell's  mouth,"  and  here  burnt  a  fire,  up  and  down  which 
demons  came  and  went.  An  old  account  for  repairs  done 
to  one  of  these  pageants  runs  thus :  "  Payd  for  mending 
hell  mought  ijd.  —  Item,  payd  for  keepng  of  fyer  at  hell 
mothe  iiijd.  —  payd  for  setting  the  world  on  fire  vd."  In 
the  time  of  Steele,  miracle  plays  were  performed  by 
puppets  under  the  arcade  of  Covent  Garden ;  and  Powell 
on  one  occasion  promises  his  audience  that  his  "  opera  of 
Susannah,  or  Innocence  betrayed,"  will  be  exhibited  next 
week  with  a  pair  of  new  elders.  A  traveller  has  not  long 
since  described  an  entertainment  of  this  kind  at  Lisbon, 
where,  after  the  expulsion  of  Eve  from  Paradise,  the 
Eternal  Father  came  down  in  great  wrath,  called  for 
Noah,  and  told  him  he  was  sorry  to  have  created  such  a 
set  of  ungrateful  scoundrels,  and  that  he  was  resolved  to 
drown  them  altogether.  "Here  Noah  interceded  for 
them,  and  at  last  it  was  agreed  that  he  should  build  an 
ark,  and  he  was  ordered  to  go  to  the  king's  dockyard  in 
Lisbon,  and  there  he  would  see  John  Gonsalvez,  for  lie 
preferred  him  to  either  the  French  or  English  builders. 
(This  produced  great  applause.)"  Ben  Jonson,  in  his 
"  Bartholomew  Fair,"  makes  one  of  his  puppet  showmen 
say,  "  Oh !  the  motions  that  I,  Lanthorn  Leatherhead, 
have  given  light  to  in  my  time,  since  my  master  Pod  died  ! 


290  ROBA  Dl  ROMA. 

Jerusalem  was  a  stately  thing,  and  so  was  Nineveh,  and 
the  City  of  Norwich ;  but  the  Gunpowder  Plot,  that  was 
a  get-penny."  And  in  "Every  Man  out  of  his  Humor" 
he  speaks  also  of  "  a  new  motion  of  the  City  of  Nineveh, 
with  Jonas  and  the  whale." 

In  Germany,  also,  these  mysteries  continue  to  be 
played,  and  every  ten  years  there  is  a  great  celebration  at 
Ammergau,  in  Bavaria,  where  the  passion  of  Christ  is 
represented  with  great  elaboration  of  dresses  and  scenery. 
Of  late  this  play  has  become  celebrated  throughout 
Europe,  and  crowds  flock  to  see  it  from  all  quarters. 

In  Italy  the  principal  motions  that  are  now  played  by 
the  Fantoccini  are  passages  from  the  life  of  Christ.  One 
of  these,  the  story  of  Judas  Iscariot,  I  remember  seeing 
several  years  ago  in  a  little  town  on  the  main  road  to 
Naples.  We  had  just  left  our  vettura,  and  were  straying 
through  the  streets  towards  sundown,  when  a  large  booth 
attracted  our  attention  before  which  were  coarse  pictures 
representing  scenes  from  the  life  of  Judas,  with  placards 
underneath  announcing  that  the  well-known  and  famous 
company  of  puppets,  so  greatly  and  deservedly  admired 
throughout  Italy,  would  this  evening  perform  the  grand 
scriptural  play  of  Judas  Iscariot,  for  the  small  entrance 
fee  of  two  baiocchi.  At  the  door  was  a  man  in  a  thick 
black  beard,  who  in  stentorian  tones  was  crying  out  to  the 
people  of  the  town  to  be  quick,  or  they  would  lose  the 
chance  of  seeing  this  justly  celebrated,  grand,  and  won- 
derful exhibition.  Prompted  by  curiosity,  we  paid  our 
baiocchi  and  went  in.  The  representation  had  already 
begun  to  an  audience  of  about  twenty  persons  of  tbe 
lower  classes ;  but  the  moment  our  party  entered  the  per- 
formance was  suspended,  the  curtain  was  dropped,  and  the 
padrone  appeared,  cleared  for  us  the  front  seats,  and 
announced  that  in  consequence  of  the  arrival  of  this  most 
distinguished  and  cultivated  company,  which  he  had  tiie 
honor  of  seeing  before  him,  he  should  recommence  the 
play  from  the  very  first  scene.  So,  in  fact,  he  did  ;  and 
nothing  more  ludicrous  and  incorrect  could  easily  be 
imagined.  The  kiss  of  Judas,  when,  after  sliding  along 
the  stage,  he  suddenly  turned  with  a  sidelong  jerk  and 
rapped  the  other  puppet's  wooden  head  with  his  own,  as 


FANTOCCINI  IN  THE  BALLET.  291 

well  as  the  subsequent  scene  in  which  he  goes  out  and 
hangs  himself,  beggars  description.  The  audience,  how- 
ever, looked  and  listened  with  great  gravity,  seemed  to  be 
highly  edified,  and  certainly  showed  no  signs  of  seeing 
anything  ludicrous  in  the  performance ;  though  their 
attention,  I  must  confess,  was  at  times  somewhat  divided 
between  us  and  the  puppets.  When  we  arose  to  go,  the 
manager  again  appeared,  though  the  play  was  not  quite 
over,  and  warmly  thanked  us  for  having  honored  him 
with  our  presence. 

At  Siena  this  year  there  was  a  similar  exhibition,  to 
which  the  country  people  flocked  from  all  the  adjacent 
country,  and  which  had  such  success  that  it  was  repeated 
every  day  for  weeks.  Sometimes,  also,  stories  from  the 
Old  Testament  are  played,  such  as  the  afflictions  of  Job ; 
the  sacrifice  of  Isaac ;  the  story  of  Susannah  and  the 
Elders  ;  and  the  Prodigal  Son.  A  short  time  since  there 
was  a  representation  of  the  Life  of  Samson,  in  which  the 
puppet  covered  the  stage  with  the  bodies  of  the  Philis- 
tines, literally  according  to  the  scripture,  "  heaps  upon 
heaps."  But  while  making  a  long  speech  preparatory  to 
quenching  his  thirst  from  the  jawbone  of  an  ass,  he  un- 
fortunately forgot  that  it  was  filled  with  water,  and  in 
his  spasmodic  gesticulations  he  sprinkled  and  spattered  it 
recklessly  over  the  stage  and  into  the  face  of  the  orchestra 
to  such  effect,  that  finally  there  was  not  a  drop  left  when 
the  time  came  to  drink.  To  do  him  justice,  however,  he 
never  lost  his  countenance  or  self-possession  at  this  trying 
moment. 

But  of  all  the  feats  of  the  Fantoccini,  nothing  can  be 
compared  to  their  acting  in  the  ballet.  If  the  pantomime 
by  actual  "  personaggi  "  be  extraordinary,  imagine  what  it 
is  when  performed  by  puppets,  whose  every  motion  is 
effected  by  wires,  who  imitate  the  gestures  of  despair  with 
hands  that  cannot  shut,  and,  with  a  wooden-  gravity  of 
countenance,  throw  their  bodies  into  terrible  contortions  to 
make  up  for  the  lack  of  expression  in  the  face.  But,  if 
possible,  their  dancing  is  even  superior  to  their  pantomime. 
When  the  wooden-headed  court,  almost  as  solemn  and 
stiff  as  a  real  one,  have  seated  themselves  on  one  side  of 
the  stage,  and  the  corps  de  ballet  has  advanced  and  re- 


292  ROBA  DI  ROMA. 

treated  in  steady  platoons,  and  retired  and  opened  just 
like  the  real  thing,  —  in,  with  a  tremendous  leap,  suddenly 
drops  the  prima  ballerina,  knocks  her  wooden  knees  to- 
gether, and  jerking  her  head  about,  salutes  the  audience 
with  a  smile  quite  as  artificial  as  we  could  see  in  the  best 
trained  of  her  fleshly  rivals.  Then,  with  a  masterly  ease, 
after  describing  air-circles  with  her  toes  far  higher  than 
her  head,  and  poising  herself  in  impossible  positions,  she 
bounds,  or  rather  flies  forward  with  superhuman  lightness, 
performs  feats  of  choreography  to  awaken  envy  in  Cerito 
and  drive  Ellsler  to  despair,  and  pausing  on  her  pointed 
toe,  that  disdains  to  touch  the  floor,  turns  never-ending 
pirouettes  on  nothing  at  all,  till  at  last,  throwing  both  her 
wooden  hands  forward,  she  suddenly  comes  to  a  stiff  stop 
to  receive  your  applause.  This  is  the  very  apotheosis  of 
ballet-dancing.  This  is  that  perfection  "which  we  are 
seeking  all  our  lives  to  find."  Unhampered  with  the  dif- 
ficulties that  encumber  her  mortal  sister,  she  performs 
what  the  living  creature  can  only  attempt,  and  surpasses 
her  as  the  ideal  surpasses  the  actual.  When  we  see  her 
with  her  permanent  smile  and  breast  that  never  pants,  we 
are  not  haunted  by  the  notion  of  those  sad  hours  of  prac- 
tising in  the  gloomy  theatrical  day,  when  the  splendid 
clouds  of  tulle  and  the  stereotyped  smile  give  way  to  shabby 
petticoats  and  twitching  face,  and  her  ear  is  saluted  by  the 
criticism  of  the  master  instead  of  the  applause  of  the  audi- 
ence. Ah,  no !  the  Fantoccina  leaps  perfect  into  her  art 
from  the  hands  of  her  maker,  dreams  her  day  away  smil- 
ing just  the  same  in  her  box  as  on  the  stage,  is  never  har- 
assed by  want  of  food  and  family  cares,  disdains  to  eke 
out  her  insufficient  salary  by  prostitution,  is  troubled  by 
no  jealousies,  pricked  by  no  vain  ambition,  haunted  by  no 
remorses,  ruined  by  no  failures,  but  without  envy,  sorrow, 
hunger,  or  the  fear  of  old  age,  keeps  a  perennial  youth 
and  a  perpetual  smile.  How  much  better  to  be  a  wooden 
Fantoccina  than  a  living  Ballerina!  Better  on  all  sides 
—  not  only  for  her,  but  for  her  maestro,  who  pays  her 
nothing,  hears  from  her  no  complaints,  and  is  subject  to 
no  caprices.  How  miserable  an  apology,  how  wretched  a 
mask  Life  seems  beside  Art !  Who  would  not  be  a  Fan* 
toccino  —  a  painted  blockhead,  if  he  could  ? 


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